


In the Kitchen with a Knife

by Semjaza



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Assassin Keith (Voltron), Assassins, Blade of Marmora Keith (Voltron), Canon Compliant to Season Four, Canon-Typical Violence, Companionable Snark, Domestic interludes, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Graphic Violence tag for safety, Heith - Freeform, Hunk (Voltron) Has Anxiety, Hunk (Voltron)-centric, Hunk and Keith Have Adventures, Implied Violence, Intergalactic Warfare, M/M, Moral Dilemmas, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining Hunk (Voltron), Protective Keith (Voltron), Romantic Comedy but not funny or romantic, Slow Burn, The Resistance Kills Empire Sympathizers, Timeline What Timeline, Work In Progress, implied PTSD, m/m - Freeform, season four spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-18 06:12:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 43,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14206839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Semjaza/pseuds/Semjaza
Summary: Hunk thinks the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Keith thinks the best way to a man’s heart is through his fourth and fifth ribs. Team Voltron misses Keith, and Hunk is determined to show him that. Somehow. Maybe with cupcakes? Meanwhile, the war is on and people need killing. Keith is taking care of that part. Hunk is definitely not helping.





	1. Hunk cooks breakfast and yells

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is a bit all over the place, and fairly uneven in tone where the romcom dialogue meets the realities of fighting an intergalactic war. Timeline is stretchy but mostly very early season four (with themes from seasons two and three). This chapter rated M for swearing, implied violence, and blood. All characters depicted are 18+.

One

 

Hunk dreamt of blood-soaked metal and plummeting to his death so often that he didn’t really consider them nightmare material anymore. As his waking reality wasn’t much different, it didn’t seem to matter that the second he managed to fall asleep, everything he’d seen and done that day replayed in his mind. His dreams twisted and warped into situations that, while not unfamiliar, seemed a hundred times more hopeless.

 

Nothing helped. He’d long since used up the last of a soporific tea gifted to him by an herbalist from a newly liberated planet, and knocking himself out with pills was out of the question. Hunk faced two choices at the end of each day when the smoke cleared and he was finally allowed to head to his berth: go to sleep and wind up in a coppery-tasting nightmare from which his exhausted body would not let him wake, or lie in bed and think about everything that could possibly go wrong, ever.

 

Tonight, he’d chosen option two, fretting over the fragile state of the team. They were functioning, even winning battles, but not well or easily. Shiro was back, though not what he’d been before the Galra had sunk their claws into him again. Sure, he was flying with them, but shouting orders on the battlefield wasn’t the same as the guidance he’d once offered. Back at the castle, he stood on the bridge and glared at the screens. He wasn’t unapproachable, just preoccupied. Hunk couldn’t blame him for his distance. He figured Shiro would eventually get out of his own head and come back to them. _Yeah, he’s probably worried that we’re all gonna die horribly. At least that’s a legitimate fear with a high probability of occurrence._

 

Hunk rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to force his mind to stop. He wondered if Lance was still awake, but quickly discarded the idea of a visit. Lance would, of course, stay up and keep Hunk company. He wouldn’t even have to ask; he could just show up at Lance’s door and Lance would rally around and drink coffee and rummage through his collection of video games for the least nostalgic ones. Or if Hunk wanted to sleep Lance would stay up beside him and shake him awake when the nightmares started. The entire night. Without complaint. But that didn’t mean it was fair to let him. It wasn’t Lance’s job to hold them all together, but he’d never shied away from the task. Hunk had watched Lance fight off his own heart-crushing anxiety to keep them functioning as a team, time and again. _But he shouldn’t have to – that’s the point…_  

 

Pidge might still be awake – Hunk knew she didn’t sleep much. She’d work for days at a time, following some twisty mathematical puzzle down a circuitous route until she got to the bottom of it, and then crash at her workstation until someone (Hunk) carried her to her bunk and tucked her in. Hunk got that; it was a lot like he’d been, back in the Garrison’s engineering classes. He understood the appeal of taking a problem, or an electromagnetic propulsion engine system, and stripping it down until it made sense. Except that Pidge’s main problem these days, besides fighting an intergalactic war, was her missing brother and father. While Pidge was happy to collaborate on projects involving the weapons systems or communications frequencies, she couldn’t handle distractions when working on anything related to her family. And really, Hell hath no fury like Pidge interrupted at a crucial moment in her calculations. It wasn’t worth the risk.

 

 _Honestly, if Pidge had met Keith in the Garrison, they would have stolen a spaceship and gone after the Kerberos mission on their own. Those two are more than obsessive… Although once Keith got Shiro back he just felt free to leave all of us…_ Hunk flipped his pillow over and stared at the ceiling. _At least Pidge has a justifiable reason for her priorities. Keith just…_

 

Keith doesn’t have an excuse, Hunk decided. _He chose a bunch of alien ninjas over his friends, and the lions. Who does that? At least in a giant space lion you’ve got some protection and_ _STOP THINKING._

 

Hunk heaved a sigh and rolled over, further entwining himself in his blankets. The castle was as quiet as it ever was, the faint hum of the crystal drive permeating the walls. Of course, there wasn’t much noise in the castle, even when everyone was awake. The Altean ship was huge, and they were so small, and few in number, their presence barely noticeable. And that was before you considered the vastness of space, the expanse of darkness and emptiness that stretched on forever and _STOP IT NOW_.

 

“That’s it, I’m up, I’m awake, I give up,” Hunk climbed out of his bunk and stretched. He threw a t-shirt and sweats on over his boxers and ambled out of his quarters, tying his hair back as he went. The kitchen was a fair distance from his room, because apparently Alteans loved walking everywhere, but Hunk had memorized the route on his first day and could probably get there in his sleep. If he ever did get to sleep, ever again. _STOP._

 

The lights in the kitchen glowed dimly when Hunk entered, but they shouldn’t have been on at all. While the rebel groups they worked with functioned around the clock, unbound by any planet’s cycles, he and the other humans had struggled to adapt. Hunk thought of Main Shift and Off Shift as day and night, and hated the ship’s harsh lighting as much as he missed sunshine. He waved the lights up to fifty percent, wondering if he should’ve brought his bayard. _Of course, the kitchen is full of knives… and whoever’s in here probably already has them all…_

 

“Who’s there?” He called softly, taking two quick steps to the side, heading for the knife drawer.

 

“Just me,” came the rasped reply. “Those lights are a little bright, you want to turn them down again?”

 

“Keith?” Hunk asked, incredulous. He stepped further into the room, adjusting the lights and hoping that it really was Keith he was talking to. “What are you doing here?”

 

“You know, I drop by the castle when I’m nearby. I exchange info, and-”

 

“Sneak into the kitchen late at night like a space ninja?” Hunk interrupted. “Where are you, anyway? Do the Blades have cloaking on their uniforms now?”

 

“I’m over here,” Keith waved, and this time Hunk saw him. Sitting hunched on the floor, hidden by the countertops and tables, water flask in hand. He leaned back against the wall, and when he tilted his head up at Hunk the movement didn’t seem entirely natural.

 

“Are you okay?” Hunk headed over, unhooking a chair and pulling it up. “What are you doing down there?”

 

“Oh, I… was just waiting for the antidotes to kick in. It’s been a bit of a long day.”

 

“No shit,” Hunk muttered. He glanced over Keith as best he could in the dim light. The Blade was in his uniform, a shadow amongst shadows, blending into the darkness around him. His skin was pale, eyes dark and glimmering. Hunk wanted to touch Keith’s forehead to test for a fever, but he also wanted to not lose his hand, so he fought down the impulse and listened quietly. Keith’s breathing was ragged and shallow, but he _was_ breathing, so Hunk filed the situation as Not an Emergency Yet. Keith took another sip of water, the flask barely shaking in his hand, and didn’t say anything else.

 

“So, uh, mission not go as planned?”

 

“No, it went as planned.” Keith set down the flask and stretched out his legs, and Hunk saw him suppress a wince.

 

“You sure you don’t want to go to a healing pod? I’ll help you get there.” Hunk kept his tone level. Keith had a bad habit of not letting anyone protect him, and while Hunk didn’t understand it, he knew not to push.

 

“It’s fine, Hunk. I was just here to drop off some intel and figured I’d grab a water-pack before I headed out. No need to spend the castle’s resources. The antidotes are working.”

 

“ _Fine_ is not what I’d call this, but whatever. Did you sit on the floor for fun, or is that just where you fell?”

 

Keith’s silence answered that question.

 

“Who poisoned you?” Hunk couldn’t keep the edge out of his voice. He heard it, and tamped it down.

 

“No one. It doesn’t matter.”

 

“Yeah, that doesn’t sound like a lie at all.” Hunk heaved himself to his feet and glared down at Keith. The Blade didn’t look at him, and after a moment Hunk decided he wasn’t about to waste a perfectly good glower on someone who wouldn’t even deign to look. “So, are you just going to stay on the floor for a while? Is this your life now? Too good for a chair?”

 

Keith snorted a laugh and then flinched. Hunk offered a hand and pretended not to notice how warily it was accepted. He helped Keith up as gently as he could and settled him into the nearest chair. Keith immediately braced himself against the table, and Hunk pretended not to see that either. Keith had always reminded him of an animal that might break its own bones or chew its own flesh to get out of a trap, and Hunk, ever mindful of his bulk, did his best to make sure he didn’t feel cornered. _Well, that’s some disturbing imagery right there, pal…_

 

“Better keep talking so I know you’re alive. What are you up for? Midnight snack? Breakfast? Some sort of medicinal charcoal? I betcha I could make that into a smoothie.” Hunk could feel himself starting to babble, and forced himself to stop and take a breath.

 

“Sounds disgusting,” Keith noted, and Hunk decided that that was better than nothing. Mindful of Keith’s earlier request, he limited the light to a small lamp directly over the countertop. Hunk rummaged around and started pulling his collection of pans from the cupboards, having scavenged them from the various planets they’d rescued from the Galra. All his utensils, knives included, had been gifted, borrowed, or salvaged. While the previous inhabitants of the Altean ship might have been satisfied by food goo, Hunk held himself to higher standards.

 

“Breakfast tacos then? I’ve been craving Tex-Mex. We visited a planet in the Delta Quadrant two weeks ago that made the closest thing to an enchilada that I’ve had in months. And last week we went to another ocean planet, only this one didn’t have mermaids, but it did have these hot sea-peppers that I traded for and now I’m growing in the greenhouses on deck 38 but most importantly, we can now make _pico de gallo_ and that’s gotta be a victory for the free world if anything is-”

 

“Hunk,” Keith started, “are you okay?”

 

“I’m not the one who’s been poisoned here, Keith. I get to ask the questions. Now, would you rather have fajitas or some sort of chicken-fried steak monstrosity? I know all of Texas is obsessed with barbeque but that’s just not happening in space and-”

 

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” Keith said quietly. “But I can’t stay long. Why are you wandering around at this hour?”

 

Hunk paused and turned towards Keith, his arms full of alien vegetables. “Couldn’t sleep, so I figured I’d get up and make some food for the team. That usually calms me down enough so I can get an hour or two before I have to be on the bridge. Added bonus: home-cooked meals for everyone. You’re missing out, not being here.” Hunk neatly snapped the leaves off a bulbous yellow fruit and began to meticulously chop it into cubes.

 

“Are things… going okay then?” Keith toyed with the water flask. “I read all the reports. I mean, the ones I can get my hands on. The Blades don’t like any one person to know too much.” Keith paused, trailing off thoughtfully. “Anyway, Voltron’s freeing planets from Galra rule at an unprecedented rate. But…”

 

“But, why am I freaking out all the time if things are going so well? It’s ‘cause they’re not. Going well, I mean. The team is stressed to the max. And each victory takes us one step closer to Zarkon, but closer to Zarkon is not where anyone in their right mind wants to be. I guess, I mean, we all might be dead soon but at least we’ll be together. But we’re not all together because you left our team and Pidge keeps wandering off on her own missions and I’m just worried. About everyone. All the time. If you get what I’m saying.” Hunk waved the knife in his hand for emphasis but stopped when he noticed that Keith’s gaze followed attentively. “Sorry,” he mumbled, turning back to his task.

 

“I’m not sure if you’re inviting me to come back to Voltron so we can all die together, or telling me that I’m going to die alone, without any home-cooked meals.”

 

“That is… Neither of those things is what I was trying to say.” Hunk caught Keith’s gaze before the other looked away, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Are you trolling me? Geez, Galra-Keith’s sense of humor is still pretty morbid.” Hunk tossed a slice of alien fruit at Keith’s face and pretended not to be impressed when it was blocked instantly.

 

“Don’t call me that,” Keith muttered, but he was fighting a smile. “You know, I always thought, of the two of you, that Lance was the more anxious one.”

 

“Are you calling me neurotic?” Hunk protested, feeling called out. “Also, you haven’t seen Lance lately, so maybe hold off on that evaluation.”

 

Hunk scooped his collection of chopped alien plants into a casserole dish and started picking out spices. Nothing was an exact equivalent to flavours found on Earth, but he tried to choose ones that would taste familiar to Keith. He couldn’t do anything about the weird color of the meal, but they’d all lived off military rations at the Garrison, and Altean food goo, so he didn’t think Keith would complain too much. Hunk didn’t measure anything out, preferring to rely on his intuition. He could feel Keith staring at him while he worked, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

 

“Are you feeling better? You said the antidotes were working, but how will you know that they’ve worked correctly?”

 

“Well, I’m not dead,” Keith drawled.

 

“That’s comforting.” Hunk rolled his eyes. He raised the lights to full brightness to read an ingredient label, and grinned when Keith hissed.

 

“What, is your ninja vision faulty in bright lights, or- what the fuck?! Keith, that’s fucking blood.” Hunk yelped, staring in horror at the blood where Keith had been sitting on the floor, the blood pooled under his chair, the blood smeared across the table where Keith rested. It blended into the dark paneling of the kitchen floor and was nearly invisible against Keith’s uniform. He hadn’t noticed it, but he should have, what was he good for if he wasn’t looking out for his team, and now-

 

“It’s fine, Hunk.”

 

“It is most definitely not fine. What the hell, Keith? You should have said something. Were you just planning to bleed out all over my kitchen?” He took a few fast steps towards Keith, noticed that his friend’s body language instantly went defensive, and managed to stop himself. _And we’re all going to have a chat about_ that _later._

 

“It’s nothing to worry about. Most of it’s not even mine.”

 

“Some of it is, though?” Hunk hoped Keith knew the threat in his voice wasn’t meant for him. He forced himself to relax, step back, and make sure he wasn’t blocking the exit. He showed his empty hands to Keith, palms out.

 

“A bit,” Keith answered. He paused, and Hunk waited, and after a moment Keith proposed an explanation. Of sorts. _That’s_ gotta _be the blood loss talking…_ “The poison was an anticoagulant, so that made things slightly more complicated, but really Hunk, it’s okay.” Keith’s tone was a plea to leave it alone, but Hunk just couldn’t.

 

He clenched his fists and counted to ten. Twice. Then he turned and placed the pan of food in the oven and set the timer. “Breakfast will be ready in 45 minutes. And while we’re waiting, you’re going to sit in a healing pod.”

 

To Hunk’s amazement, Keith didn’t argue. Much. That was for the best, because even wounded, the Blade was a formidable opponent. If he’d put up any real resistance, Hunk doubted he would’ve been able to get Keith out of the kitchen without hurting them both. It wasn’t a matter of size or strength: Hunk bet he had at least sixty pounds on Keith, and he knew he was stronger. But Keith put down Galra soldiers bigger than Hunk on a daily basis. At the Garrison, Keith had been a fighter pilot and combat specialist. Hunk had been an engineer.

 

While every cadet had a basic understanding of hand-to-hand fighting, Hunk had spent a lot of that time trying to not accidentally hurt his sparring partners. He’d trained in kajukenbo as a child, because he’d grown up in a neighbourhood where everyone was obsessed with it. He knew a bunch of limalama throws and holds, but he’d never wanted to fight anyone, or use what little he knew to harm another person. His long-suffering combat teachers tried their best, but Hunk had always been more interested in cooking and theoretical physics than martial arts. Unlike Keith, who always sparred against the instructors because none of the other cadets could touch him. There was no way to catch up with the level of training that Keith already had, even if he’d wanted to. Hunk fought to protect his friends, but Keith fought because it pleased him. _And I don’t think it’s just a Galra thing either…_

 

They left the kitchen slowly, Hunk at Keith’s elbow, ready to grab him if he passed out. Keith grumbled about his breakfast being held hostage, but Hunk felt free to ignore him. Keith obviously didn’t care that dying in Hunk’s kitchen would have been deeply traumatic for Hunk. He shared these sentiments with Keith.

 

“I’m not dying,” Keith countered, though he didn’t seem to be getting enough air. He gestured erratically towards the room they’d just left. “And if I were, I sure as hell wouldn’t be dying in a kitchen. Jeez.”

 

“I dunno, Keith, given the amount of blood you left on the floor, and the chair, and the table, I’m really not sure how it is you’re still alive.”

 

“I told you, it wasn’t all mine,” Keith growled.

 

“Yes, which is mildly disturbing but beside the point. The mystery is how you’re alive, not why someone else isn’t. That one’s pretty obvious.”

 

“Also, none of your business.”

 

“Oh, I agree, very much.”

 

Keith responded with a dirty look, but didn’t say anything else. Hunk figured he had to focus on staying upright, and kept close to his side. Five minutes into their hike to the level that stored the healing pods, Keith tripped over his own feet in a decidedly un-Keith-like manner, and yelped when Hunk caught his arm to stop his fall. Hunk decided to hell with it and picked him up, bridal-style.

 

“This is ridiculous,” Keith slurred at him. “Put me down. I can walk.”

 

“Yeah, you’re not doing such a great job at that, buddy. Stop squirming. I’d try a fireman’s carry but I don’t know where you’re wounded and I’m pretty sure you’re not going to tell me. So, this is what’s happening.”

 

Keith snorted. “ _Kata guruma_.”

 

“What?”

 

“It’s judo. Starts off like a fireman’s carry, but then you throw your opponent on the ground. Or you can follow them down, like a Samoan drop.”

 

“Thank you for elaborating all the ways I could hurt you while carrying you.” Hunk knew his eyeroll was probably wasted on Keith, but he hoped his tone conveyed his sarcasm.

 

“Not all the ways,” Keith muttered, “there’s loads more.”

 

“Yeah, I think you’re delirious. We’re almost to the pods.”

 

“Whatever.” Keith frowned up at Hunk’s face. “Waste of resources. I’ll be healed in a day or so.”

 

“Sure, and how many missions will the Blades send you on before you recover?”

 

Keith shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”

 

“Yes, it does,” Hunk stated, “and it bothers me that you think it doesn’t.” _Whoa there, Hunk, no more talking for you._

 

He held Keith gingerly, not wanting to jostle his wounds or provoke a violent reaction. Hunk didn’t really believe Keith would hurt him, at least not on purpose, but Keith had the reflexes of someone living in a war-zone. Add in poison and blood loss and whatever recent act of brutality Keith had participated in, and Hunk had a pretty good chance of getting accidentally stabbed. A little caution never hurt anyone.

 

Keith was quiet for the rest of the trip, but Hunk could feel him breathing raggedly against his chest. When they finally reached the healing pods, he set Keith down at the nearest horizontal one as gently as he could manage. The soft blue glow of the pod lit up the room. Keith sprawled at his feet, looking as though he hadn’t slept in days. _Those antidotes can’t be working right…_

 

“You need any help taking off your armor?” Hunk asked, hoping that his words had sounded more like an endeavour to help a comrade and less like an offer to strip them.

 

Keith raised an eyebrow. “Well, I can’t seem to lift my arms at the moment, so… yeah?”

 

“You know, if you’re dying, you could at least tell me, so I could scream for help, or something. I bet at least Shiro has first aid training.” Hunk grumbled, looking Keith over, unsure where to start with the Blade’s armor. He finally tugged off Keith’s gloves and set them aside. Keith’s hands were bruised, half-wrapped in cloth, the knuckles split and bloodied. The nails were bitten down to the quick. There were throwing knives tucked into the wrist guards.

 

“Blade training’s pretty rough, huh?”

 

“It’s more intense than at the Garrison, that’s for sure.” Keith replied, head lolling. His breathing seemed slightly more strained, and Hunk settled his palms on Keith’s chest. The Galra armor was cool under his hands, a strangely smooth material that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it.

 

“I don’t suppose there’s a zipper?”

 

Keith rolled his eyes, or maybe they’d just gone unfocused. “Shoulders first.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just hard to find seams on ninja armor. You’d think a secret society that’s existed for hundreds of years would have armor that, I dunno, protects you from getting stabbed. Or poisoned. Or hurt in any way.”

 

“Well, I like it,” Keith blurted woozily. _Okay, this might actually be an emergency._ Hunk decided that they were running out of time. He pulled off Keith’s boots and unclipped his weapons belt, finding more knives than any one person really needed and an astonishing variety of small but heavy grenades. 

 

“Your life is kind of frightening. Let’s hope the ninja alloys don’t interfere with the healing pod too much, ‘cause you’re going in now.”

 

He lifted Keith carefully, realizing in a moment that his friend couldn’t stand. He wrapped one arm around Keith’s waist, holding him close, and winced when Keith gasped in pain. He tapped the codes into the Altean system, and the pod hummed into life, beginning to fill with oxygen-rich fluid.

 

Keith studied the pod with misgiving. “I hate these things. Feels like drowning.”

 

“Better than dying, though.” Hunk settled Keith into a sitting position, the healing gel rising to his waist and already tinged pink with blood. He kept a hold on the back of Keith’s neck, preventing him from sliding under the surface. Keith was looking at him again, his expression more puzzled than wary.

 

“I hear it’s easier if you exhale as you go under,” Hunk suggested. He’d never been wounded enough to need one. He hadn’t known that Keith had, either. Keith’s jaw clenched, but he managed to nod once, and Hunk let go of him. The pod sealed shut with a hiss, liquid filling the tank completely. He watched as Keith took a deep breath of the fluid and went still, the pod’s systems instantly working to anesthetize and sedate its inhabitant.

 

He stayed for longer than was necessary, making sure everything was working correctly, before heading back to the kitchen.

 

*

 

“So, is breakfast ready yet? I gotta get back.”

 

Hunk jumped at the drawled question, scattering purple and magenta beans everywhere.

 

“The hell, Keith? What are you doing back here already? Did you reprogram the pod?” Hunk demanded, advancing on the Blade.

 

“What? No, guess I just heal fast.”

 

“I’d say. Fifty minutes and you look… okay. Not poisoned and leaking blood, anyway.”

 

“Thanks,” Keith huffed a laugh. He seated himself at the table and looked at Hunk expectantly. Hunk remembered that attitude from the fighter pilots at the Garrison. Confidence bordering on arrogance, combined with a hefty amount of aggression. He supposed it was only natural that Keith was a bit like them. He had been, after all, at the top of the class. Hunk found it was just as annoying now as it had been then.

 

“What, you think you can just abandon this team and then walk back in here and demand to be fed?” Hunk’s tone was less joking than he’d hoped. “Well, that-”

 

“Seems to be what’s happening,” Keith answered smoothly. “And, for one, you offered to make me breakfast as though it was your sworn and solemn duty, and for two, I did _not_ abandon this team.”

 

Hunk knew he’d touched a nerve and mentally debated whether to let it go. “I know,” he answered finally. “We miss you, is all.” _Why on earth would you say that?! Stop it!_

 

Keith stared at him in stunned silence for a full five seconds before dropping his gaze and looking away. Hunk noted that all his weapons had been meticulously replaced.

 

“What, you thought we didn’t?” Hunk resisted the urge to just bail out of this conversation and instead started to set the table. _Oh my god, just stop talking!_

 

Keith rubbed the back of his neck and didn’t say anything. Hunk could tell the Blade wanted to run for it, and he couldn’t think of a single thing to say that might convince him otherwise. Instead, he handed him a plate of food.

 

“So, it’s kind of a breakfast taco without the taco… or any of the other ingredients. It’s more like, the spirit of a breakfast taco, baked with a vegetable medley, seasoned with a bunch of great flavors from the Epsilon Galaxy.”

 

Keith eyed him dubiously.

 

“Don’t look at me like that, I just cooked your damn breakfast.”

 

“I wasn’t looking at you like anything,” Keith replied. “Were you going to give me a fork, or-?”

 

Something chimed, and Keith’s gaze immediately dropped to his arm. Hunk saw the flicker of a communicator, built into the vambrace.

 

“I gotta go. I’ll bring back your plate. Thanks, Hunk.” Keith grabbed his food and ran for the door. He slipped into the hallway and immediately merged with the shadows there, heading for the hangar.

 

Hunk stared after him for a long moment, eyes bleary. He gripped the countertop he leaned against until his knuckles turned white.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I’m just writing this for fun, but I’d appreciate any comments or feedback (or beta reading offers). Timeline is stretchy: Shiro is back and Keith has left the team to train with the Blade of Marmora. Pidge hasn’t found Matt yet. Zarkon is the big bad because I forgot Lotor was in season four. This might change. There isn’t much plot (basically I want Hunk and Keith to go on adventures and figure out if they like each other) but I do have an idea of where I’m going with this. I’m trying to keep it lighter in tone (well, for me) and non-graphic, even though my brain is like, write a Flammen & Citronen and Voltron crossover. 
> 
> I’m damehel on tumblr if you want to say hi.


	2. Hunk brews tea and yells

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left comments or kudos. This chapter rated M for swearing and implied violence. All characters depicted are 18+. I tried to move on but Hunk’s still not over chapter one and needs a bit more time to yell at Keith about his life choices. I don’t think this is quite ready to post but I got sick of looking at it.

 Two

 

Sleep was just not happening. Hunk dug his fingers into his hair and screamed internally. He’d napped on the bridge earlier that day, for nearly three hours. Pidge had shaken him when he’d started to mutter and fidget, sparing him the embarrassment of shouting himself awake. They hesitated to wake him otherwise, and Hunk wondered how long it would be before Shiro or Allura pulled him aside and demanded an explanation. Pidge and Lance covered for him as best they could, but it was hard to exist on a handful of hours of sleep each cycle. It was beginning to affect his piloting skills, and those hadn’t been great to begin with. _I wonder how much sleep Keith gets…_

 

It’d been a week and a half of Earth time since he’d dragged Keith from kitchen to healing pod, and there’d been no sign of him since then. Hunk had asked Shiro about the intel drops, and Shiro confirmed that Kolivan’s Marmora agents and the odd resistance fighter had access to the castle at pre-arranged times. He hadn’t seemed concerned about the possible security breach this could cause, and so Hunk decided he wasn’t going to worry about it either. Much. After a day of fretting he figured that Shiro knew Keith made most of the drops, and thus they weren’t letting random alien-hybrid ninjas inside the castle to potentially murder them all in their sleep. Just Keith, who might be grumpy sometimes.

 

He hadn’t mentioned Keith’s condition that night to Shiro. He’d meant to, twice, catching Shiro by himself in the hangar. He’d started off with Keith’s name, because even if Shiro was too stressed to deal with the rest of them, he’d always listen if something involved Keith. And then it had just felt like a huge violation of privacy, and he’d blathered something about the Blade instead. If Keith wanted Shiro to know that he was getting brutalized on his Marmora missions, Keith could tell Shiro that. Hunk was going to stay out of it. Either Shiro already knew what Keith was dealing with, and for whatever reason hadn’t put a stop to it, or he didn’t know because Keith had kept it from him.

 

 _And that is a fight I do not want to get in the middle of…_ Hunk rubbed his eyes and wandered around his quarters, managing to fumble his way into a hoodie. He didn’t know what to think about Keith anymore. He’d valued him, as a friend and a paladin ( _although apparently not enough to make him stay_ ) and had spent much of the time since Keith had left them trying not to dwell on him. He missed Keith, and he was angry at him for leaving, and there wasn’t any point in prodding that wound any further. Except that Keith wasn’t exactly gone, he was just choosing to stay apart from them. _And that feeling you’re feeling is called rejection. Right?_  

 

The hallways of the castle-ship were dim in the off-shift hours, but as Hunk approached the kitchen he saw that the lights had been turned up, bathing the room in a warm glow. He walked in to see a familiar shape sitting on the far table, long legs dangling over the edge. Keith was leaning back on his palms, frowning up at the ceiling where the remnants of a food-goo war smeared over the tiles. His armor enveloped him in clean flowing lines, catching the eye and then assuring it that there was nothing there to see.

 

 “Man, the service in this place sucks.” Keith’s drawl floated across the room, pitched to carry.

 

“I’ll show you what it’s like to get serviced,” Hunk retorted, then sputtered. “No, wait, that came out wrong.”

 

“God, it’s like talking to Lance.” Keith turned his gaze on Hunk, a faint smile ghosting over his features. He studied Hunk’s face, his expression thoughtful, and Hunk felt his insides start to squirm. _What the hell?_ He realized he’d been staring at Keith’s mouth an inappropriate amount of time and turned away abruptly. _Oh no._

 

“Not that you’d know. How come you only show up when everyone’s in bed?” Hunk scrambled to recover, picking a cookbook tablet out of a nearby cupboard. He powered it up and starting skimming through menus, refusing to look at Keith. _What is wrong with you? Get it together._

 

“I’m not here to visit. Like I told you, I drop off intel that’s too sensitive to send through the frequencies, even encrypted. The castle’s not even my only stop.” Keith sounded bored. Hunk risked a glance, covertly.

 

“Yeah yeah, places to go, people to do, too good to hang out with your friends.”

 

“I… don’t think that’s the saying, Hunk.” There was a smirk in Keith’s voice, like a laugh barely concealed.

 

Hunk paused, fighting a mental battle in which he debated the merits of never speaking again or throwing himself out an airlock. “Since when do you know what sayings are, Keith?” he blurted.

 

“Um…”

 

“Anyway, get your ass off my table.” Hunk marched forward. “Jeez. People have to eat off that, you know.”

 

Keith snorted, but stood up and unclipped a chair. He sprawled into it gracelessly, eyes on Hunk. “Still not sleeping?”

 

“I’d say that’s apparent.” Hunk’s tone was more irritated than he’d intended. He pulled a pair of mugs out of the cupboard. “You want a cup of tea or something?” He asked, trying to keep the sharp edges out of his voice.

 

“Sure, sounds good.” Keith sounded mildly surprised, as though he hadn’t just been waiting in the kitchen for Hunk to show up and feed him. “I’ll take anything containing caffeine, or the space equivalent.”

 

“Sounds like you enjoy being awake, all the time.” Hunk tried to keep the jealousy out of his voice.

 

“I don’t sleep much.” Keith drummed his fingers on the table, his expression contemplative. “Maybe you should ask Allura if there’s any Altean insomnia cures. I mean, the ship’s archives must have something, even if Allura doesn’t know herself. Coran probably knows dozens.”

 

“What, are you tired of running into me like this?” Hunk placed a selection of jars on the counter in front of him. Most contained what looked like dried leaves, in a multitude of colors. Others held seeds, bits of bark, and what appeared to be a small assortment of glittering beads. Hunk picked sage green leaves, a piece of white lichen, and three shades of purple seeds, and started to measure out portions.

 

“No, I just mean-” Keith looked flustered, all of a sudden. Hunk decided to be magnanimous and save him. _Even though he doesn’t deserve it, showing up here like he didn’t almost die last week._

 

“I know what you meant,” Hunk interrupted. “Insomnia’s not what’s wrong with me. Not really.”

 

“Well, whatever it is, there’s probably help if you ask. Go see Allura, or are you still scared of her?”

 

“Very funny, you telling _me_ to ask for help,” Hunk said flatly. “And I’m not scared of her. Just… intimidated. Sometimes.” He pressed a few buttons and filled a carafe with boiling water. “I seem to remember that you were the one she yelled at the most.”

 

“I remember being the one you _all_ yelled at the most.” Keith leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest.

 

“Well, you did your own fair share of yelling.”

 

“Yeah, out of frustration.”

 

Hunk didn’t have an answer for that, at least not one he thought Keith would want to hear. He turned back to the cupboard for a moment and found a jar of a sweet yellow spice. “You think Allura’s still awake?” He asked, trying to drag the conversation out of the argument it was fast approaching.

 

Keith spread his hands. “You’d know better than I would. You want to go check?”

 

Hunk tossed the leaves into the carafe and watched them dissolve into nothingness. The water turned the faintest shade of green and smelled strongly of cardamom and lemon.

 

“I think showing up in Allura’s bedroom in the middle of the night is a pretty good way to get murdered.” He poured a cup of tea, added a spoonful of spice from the jar, and handed it to Keith.

 

“If you say so.” Keith took a swig of tea and Hunk winced.

 

“That’s… boiling hot, Keith.”

 

Keith shrugged. “It’s fine.” He unclipped the chair beside him and kicked it towards Hunk. “What’s in it?”

 

This was a safe topic, and Hunk dove into an explanation. “A combination of herbs and spices from three different planets in the Theta-Rho quadrant. I’m starting to realize that combining flavours from different eco-systems can lead to amazing results, although there’s always the risk that something will react badly with something else and create a caustic acid or some sort of hemorrhagic poison.” Hunk sat beside Keith, who was regarding his teacup with newfound caution, and realized what he’d just said. “Speaking of which, how are you feeling?”

 

Keith exhaled slowly, as though he didn’t want to explain. “Better. According to Kolivan’s medics, the healing pod stopped the internal bleeding and stripped most of the bloody fluid out of my lungs. Apparently, that would have killed me before the poison stopped my heart. The antidotes I had were calibrated for a full-blood Galra, and they didn’t know how they’d react with human physiology. So, good call on the healing pod. I didn’t even need any extra stitches once I got back. At least, not from that.” Keith said it like it was nothing, whether he survived or whether he didn’t.

 

Hunk sat quietly, beginning to realize that he couldn’t handle being around Keith. At all. Keith might have continued talking, describing some narrow escape, but Hunk couldn’t hear anything over the sound of his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He set his cup down carefully, afraid he’d crush it in his grip.

 

“So, you would have died. On the floor, over there,” he said eventually, gritting out the words.

 

Keith shrugged, indifferent. “I might have survived the night. Or figured out that I needed help and called you guys. Or realized the antidotes weren’t working as expected and headed back to the base early.” He leaned forward, meeting Hunk’s horrified gaze. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m saying thank you, here.”

 

Hunk frowned, looking away from Keith. He forced himself to be still, counting the spacing of each breath. The silence stretched uncomfortably, until Hunk decided he was actually being mean by dragging this out. He reclaimed his teacup and tried not to be annoyed. “Alright. You don’t have to thank me, jeez. Just, promise me you won’t die in my kitchen.”

 

Keith smirked, then saw Hunk’s irritable glower and answered solemnly. “I promise, Hunk.”

 

Hunk took a deep breath and tried to calm himself again. _It’s official. Being around Keith drives me absolutely bat-fuck insane._ He sipped his tea and tried not to think about Keith, sitting on the floor, letting his lungs fill up with blood. _Okay, that’s not working._

 

 “And if you think you might be dying, ask for help, for fuck’s sakes.” Hunk gave up trying to contain his thoughts. “I mean, you were actually in the fucking castle. Everyone on-board would have helped you in an instant. There was no need-” Hunk realized he’d raised his voice and cut himself off abruptly. _Yep, still pissed._ At some point he’d stood up to better glare down at Keith.

 

Keith, having proven during his time with both the Garrison and the Marmora that he was not intimidated by large men shouting at him, watched him calmly. The wariness Hunk had seen in him last week was gone, and Hunk decided that it must have been an effect of being poisoned and wounded. Keith had probably assessed him as a threat and decided he wasn’t enough of one to bother standing up. 

 

“Are you alright?” Keith leaned back on one elbow to look up at him better. “Normally it’s me that loses it and starts yelling.”

 

Hunk fumed. “I just… It would have been a stupid way to die.” He looked at Keith, and suddenly the room was too small for the both of them. He turned on his heel and stalked away, leaving the kitchen for the castle’s labyrinthine system of corridors. Hunk picked directions at random, unsure of why he’d picked today, of all days, to develop a temper. _Because that is definitely Keith’s thing, if it’s anyone’s._

 

It wasn’t that Hunk didn’t feel angry at times, but normally it wasn’t directed at a person. _Just, you know, the Galra Empire, the oppression of innocent beings, the injustice of destroying worlds and lives for profit, things like that. Oh, and Keith, when he was fucking off with the Blade of Marmora when he should have been leading Voltron. …Oh._

 

Hunk wandered further into the castle, not even bothering to wave on the lights. His footsteps echoed down each empty corridor, mixing with the hum of the crystal engines. Away from Keith, he was able to calm down a bit. In his presence, he seemed to run a gamut of emotions from awkwardness to rage. It wasn’t like him, and it wasn’t fair to Keith. He’d never hollered at Pidge or Lance for getting hurt on a mission. He wasn’t sure why he was yelling at Keith for that. _Admit it, he makes you really fucking weird._

 

Hunk turned down another hallway and put Keith out of his thoughts. Darkness shadowed every doorway. He was just beginning to think about the time the ship’s system had glitched and turned against them when a shadow detached itself from the wall. Hunk jumped and swore. He was deep in the interior of the castle, beyond the ring of cargo holds, and unarmed. _As usual_. He took a step back, halfway into a fighting stance but ready to run for it, depending on what appeared.

 

Keith stepped into the glow of a nearby light panel, carrying a steaming cup in each hand. He passed one to Hunk. “You forgot your tea.”

 

Hunk accepted the cup wordlessly, resisted the urge to throw it in Keith’s face, and took a sip, scalding his throat. Keith tossed his back in one gulp as though he didn’t feel pain.

 

“It’s okay, Hunk,” he said after a moment. “Sometimes I can’t stand my own bullshit either.”

 

“No, nope, I’m not talking to you yet. You’re still pissing me off.” Hunk strode down the dark hallway, and Keith fell into step at his side, more than easily keeping pace. “Are you following me for a reason?” He asked, forgetting his own rule. “And how’d you get ahead of me anyway?”

 

Keith shrugged. “The ship’s not that big and you’re not exactly quiet.”

 

“And you’re all about that sneaky ninja shit now, aren’t you?” Hunk asked, not caring how spiteful he sounded.

 

“Voltron can’t be everywhere at once. The Marmora are a guerrilla force, with semi-independent operatives. There’s not nearly enough of us for an all-out war. Overt action would be put down hard. It’s not ‘sneaking.’”

 

“That sounds exactly like ninjas. It doesn’t sound much like you.”

 

“What, you think I can’t go anywhere without starting a fight? I choose my battles.”

 

“You choose all of them. Does Kolivan have to remind you not to attack everyone before each mission?”

 

“… No.” Keith answered in a way that meant yes, Kolivan did.

 

“See,” Hunk gestured with his teacup. “Proves my point.”

 

“And what was that?”

 

“You’re reckless.”

 

“I’m effective. You in any parades lately?” Keith didn’t try to hide his contempt.

 

“It’s a military show of force to inspire our new allies. If we gain enough support, maybe the Galra will just surrender peacefully and no one will get hurt.”

 

“It’s victory or death, Hunk. The Galra aren’t just going to roll over and apologize for enslaving the universe. And your new allies show Voltron a very sugar-coated version of what happens when you liberate a planet from centuries of oppressive government. They probably wait till you’re back in orbit before the public executions start. Either that or they mop the blood out of the parade square before you arrive.”

 

“That’s gross, Keith,” Hunk swallowed hard. “You think that’s actually what happens?”

 

“You think these planets just have new global governments ready to go in the event they get liberated? Organized, competent, free of corruption?”

 

“Well, no. I’m sure it takes a while to get political processes up and running again. But it’s not like we’re causing civil wars in space.”

 

“It’s naïve to think that everyone is as good as you are, Hunk. And people are only as good as their circumstances allow.” Keith handed back his teacup, and Hunk accepted it numbly. They were at the kitchen door somehow. Hunk didn’t remember choosing a path that would lead them back here.

 

“Why are you telling me this?” Hunk asked, unsettled enough to forget how annoyed he was at Keith.

 

“Because it’s reckless to think that everyone believes in the same greater good that you do. You might wander away from a parade route and get stabbed or something.”

 

“Well, that’s a grim outlook on life. Thank you for that.” Hunk held out a hand. “I believe you owe me a plate as well as all this unsolicited information.”

 

Keith looked sheepish. “It got smashed. Sorry. Hard landing.”

 

“Did your ship get smashed too?”

 

A pause. “… Yeah.”

 

“The hell, Keith?”

 

“Not my fault. I got shot down.”

 

“Oh my god. I can’t even deal with you.” Hunk brushed past the Blade to head into the kitchen, but Keith grabbed his arm.

 

“Wait, Hunk. Here. I need a favour.” He passed Hunk a tiny sliver of glass and metal. Hunk recognized it as a Galra-made data storage device. “Would you look at this for me?” Keith continued. “I’d like another set of eyes on it, and an engineer’s opinion.”

 

“My opinion regarding what?” Hunk asked flatly.

 

“Weak points, structural flaws, how many kilos of explosives you think it might withstand… that kind of stuff.”

 

“Don’t the Marmora have engineers? Like, really good ones, able to build machines that warp black holes and create space pockets?”

 

“The ones who could build those things are dead now. And those we have left are stretched pretty thin.”

 

“Seems risky to outsource.”

 

“That’s why I’m asking you.”

 

Hunk frowned, considering. “I’ll look at it, if I have time. You want me to send a message to Kolivan when I’m done, or will you be back?”

 

“I’ll be back for an answer in an Earth-week or two, don’t send it over the frequencies. And if you have a datapad that’s not connected to the ship’s systems to view it, that would be best.”

 

“And that doesn’t sound suspicious at all.”

 

“The mission’s going forward whether I have your input or not, Hunk. It’d just be helpful.” Keith sounded uncertain, diffident even. He looked askance, not meeting Hunk’s gaze.

 

“Fine. So long as you’re not making me complicit in the murder-fest you call espionage.”

 

“Your help will reduce the casualty count, if that makes you feel better.”

 

“Not really.” Hunk pocketed the intel. “See you in a week, then.”

 

 *

 

Alarms blared, Yellow screamed in his head, and Hunk could not get any of the controls to respond. The cockpit was smeared in blood and hydraulic fluid, and he could feel the massive rents in his lion’s sides as though he was the one that was wounded. Yellow writhed in his mind, their bond flickering. Hunk could sense her rerouting the energy that powered her, trying to protect him. He could feel her dying, taste the sickness in his throat. Static blared across the screens as they plummeted out of the sky, burning in the atmosphere, dragged down by gravity to the bottom of a well, and-

 

“Hunk?!”

 

Someone was on top of him, gripping his shoulders, shaking him. Strong hands pressed down, too close to his throat. It felt like a threat. It had to be. How had he survived the crash?

 

“Hunk, c’mon, wake up.”

 

The panic that clenched his chest eased a fraction but didn’t dissipate. He lashed out before he could stop himself, felt his fist connect, and heard a muffled curse.

 

“Ow, fuck! You really need to wake up, right now.”

 

He knew that voice, but it didn’t make any sense. Hunk hauled himself the rest of the way into consciousness by sheer force of will, resisting the dream that threatened to drag him back down into chaos and violence. He thrashed his head to shake off the nightmare, heart pounding, his shirt soaked in sweat.

 

“Go easy, Hunk, it’s alright, you’re safe.”

 

Hunk felt the gentle pressure of Yellow settle in the back of his mind, a calming, sensible presence. He opened his eyes to see Keith. In his quarters. Straddling his waist.

 

“Um…”

 

“You don’t wake up easy, do you?” Keith muttered. He squeezed Hunk’s right shoulder with one hand and rested the other over Hunk’s heart. “Better just breathe for a minute.”

 

Hunk nodded and closed his eyes, leaning back against his pillows, unable to process just what was going on. He hadn’t seen Keith in a week, and he’d spent every spare moment poring over the data he’d been given. He hadn’t slept much, but he did remember coming back to his bunk after an utterly disastrous day on the bridge. Four rebel ships destroyed by Galra cruisers, a supply line carrying food to refugees on Quintant Three so disrupted as to be worthless, and Team Voltron always at least six galaxies away from being useful, scrambling around stamping out fires while half the universe burned down behind them. He’d been completely exhausted, his body winning out over his agitated brain. He must’ve slept, because otherwise it meant that he’d started having nightmares while awake and that was a whole other set of problems he didn’t need to deal with.  

 

Hunk opened his eyes and winced at the harsh lighting. Keith waved the lights down again without a word, then reached for Hunk’s hands. Hunk realized he was shaking, the adrenaline from his nightmare still coursing through his veins. Keith folded Hunk’s arms across his chest then lifted his hands towards his collarbone, pressing down firmly. Eventually, Hunk managed to regain control of his breathing. He opened his eyes again, looking up at Keith.

 

“Did I hit you?” He asked.

 

Keith rubbed his jaw. “I got in your way.”

 

“Sorry. I-”

 

“It’s fine, Hunk. You barely grazed me.” Keith’s tone was surprisingly unconcerned for someone who’d just wrestled a large, flailing man out of a nightmare.

 

“Are you… gonna get off me?” Most of Keith’s weight was on Hunk’s waist, the rest leaning on his chest with one hand. He wore dark clothing instead of his Marmora armor, and Hunk could feel the warmth of his body against him. It wasn’t unpleasant, or even uncomfortable, but it’d been a while since anyone had climbed on top of him in bed and Hunk was becoming very aware of just how close Keith was to him. _Nope. Nope. God, what is wrong with you?_

 

“I did try shouting at you first. Didn’t have any effect. Neither did turning up the lights.” Keith deftly swung a leg over Hunk, shuffling until he was seated sideways on the bed with one foot tucked under him. He was still pressed close to Hunk’s side, one hand keeping Hunk’s arms in place. Hunk had a vague idea that Keith was treating him like a puppy afraid of fireworks. He wasn’t sure if he should find it endearing or feel mortified. He squirmed, and Keith immediately gave him a bit more space.

 

“So, um… thanks for waking me up. Did you break into my room for a reason, or just to creep on me while I was sleeping?”

 

“Well, you weren’t in the kitchen when I arrived, and I got tired of waiting.”

 

“Can’t cook for yourself?”

 

“Is there a space equivalent of scrambled eggs on toast?”

 

“Yes, but no one’s been able to get past the olive-green colour long enough to try it.”

 

“Sounds gross.”

 

“It’s not that bad.” Hunk sighed, tucking an arm behind his head. He could barely see Keith’s profile in the darkness.

 

“I looked at the files you gave me and made my edits.” Reaching under his pillow, he retrieved the data and handed it to Keith. “If it’s a building, parts look more like they were grown on site than constructed. I circled what might be weak points; a few seams here and there. I didn’t see any flaws in the blueprints. There’s a weird structure running through the main building, like a reinforced frame, but I can’t tell what it is without actually seeing it. And without a sample for photoelectron spectroscopy, there’s no easy way to judge the material composition. I gave my best guess and attached my notes. Please don’t use this information to kill people.”

 

“I told you, if this is done right, it’ll save lives.”

 

“I notice that’s not the same as saying, yes Hunk, I won’t kill anyone.”

 

Keith exhaled slowly, wiping a gloved hand over his face. “Are your nightmares always this bad?”

 

“I’d say that was probably average. Just the usual, falling and dying.” Hunk yawned, not really wanting to let Keith get away with changing the topic, but too exhausted to protest too much. Keith seemed to be looking at him again, or at least turned towards his face. The lighting made it hard to tell.

 

“I have some time, if you want to go back to sleep. I’ll stay here and wake you up if you start thrashing around again.”

 

“So, you did break in here to creep on me.”

 

“Hunk, I-”

 

“I’m kidding.” Hunk rustled around a bit, getting comfortable. “Wake me up before you leave?” _And let’s try not to overthink this…_

 

“Yeah, okay.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, still uneven in tone, but hopefully that will get better as I go along. Also trying to drag everyone back into character. Anyway, next chapter has actual other paladins, not just the Keith and Hunk show, so... hooray?


	3. Hunk has feelings and they're awful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left kudos or comments – your feedback makes me happy! Sorry for the delay – this chapter got a huge revision. It’s still unwieldy, but much more functional, if that makes any sense. Also, most of the plot got bumped to the next chapter, so this is more of an interlude. This chapter rated M for swearing. All characters depicted are 18+.

Three

 

“Hey,” the voice was quiet, a hand gently gripped his shoulder. “Hunk, I gotta leave. I’ll miss my rendezvous if I stay any longer.”

 

Hunk resisted the urge to pull the blanket over his head and opened his eyes, struggling to get them to focus. The room blurred in his vision, and for a moment his brain refused to accept that it was Keith’s voice, and Keith, in his bunk. Keith sat next to him, completely relaxed, his back casually pressed up against Hunk’s side as though this was something they did all the time. _Um… nope._ The room was softly lit and full of shadows. The computer interface near his bed showed that it was still off-shift hours, though very nearly morning.

 

Hunk wiped a hand over his face, trying to ignore the welter of emotions that arrived with consciousness. He stretched, and Keith immediately rearranged himself to give Hunk a bit of space, as though he hadn’t realized that he’d been physically leaning on him. Keith didn’t move _that_ far away though – he simply shuffled forward an inch or two, placing his feet firmly on the floor, and sitting up so that his posture reflected the years of military training he’d had at the Garrison. Hunk could still feel the warmth of him, and wondered for a moment if he was actually delirious. _Or maybe still dreaming?_

 

_Keith is in my room. Keith is in my bed… Well, on my bed._ Hunk squeezed his eyes shut for a second, then looked again. Keith was still there, starting to look slightly concerned, as though Hunk was going to yell, or throw him out. He held a datapad in his hand, the screen glowing faintly, though his attention was entirely on Hunk. Hunk wasn’t sure he could deal with that kind of scrutiny this morning, especially as his brain seemed unwilling to get in the game. _Keith is in my bed because when he came looking for information, I happened to be thrashing around in a nightmare. Right. I was dying in my sleep, and Keith woke me up. Facts established. And then he offered to stay, and he did._

 

The idea that Keith had stayed the night, keeping watch over him, rattled around in his brain and tugged at his heart. Hunk was unexpectedly moved by the gesture, even though it contrasted jarringly with the reality of Keith’s choices. Keith had left them, and seemed to have no intention of returning to them, and whatever Hunk was feeling right now couldn’t change those facts. It almost made the reality of those choices more painful: knowing that Keith remained his friend, and that he cared, and that he’d still decided not to stay. Hunk took a deep breath and decided to pretend that he wasn’t feeling anything, at all.

 

“Okay, I’m awake. Mostly.” Hunk yawned, waving the lights up to a brighter setting and immediately regretting it. He blinked a few times and waited for his vision to adjust. Keith sat quietly on his bed, looking slightly relieved that Hunk had finally decided to speak. He was dressed tidily in soft dark clothing, a mix of grays and blacks, and Hunk figured it was probably some sort of ninja under-armor. It’d been a long time since he’d seen Keith wear any sort of civilian clothing, and he wasn’t sure this counted. “You off-duty?” He asked, then shook his head and waved a hand at Keith, letting him know he didn’t have to answer. “Maybe not as awake as I thought,” he muttered.

 

Keith shrugged. “I’m never technically off-duty.” He paused for a moment, thinking it over before deciding to elaborate. “But I am free to organize my own time depending on the mission specs.” He gestured to the datapad.

 

“So Kolivan isn’t going to yell at you for not getting back to the base or wherever last night?”

 

Keith shook his head. “No, he knows where I am. I’m not going to get punished or something, if that’s what you mean.”

 

“Well, kinda… I mean…” Hunk couldn’t get his thoughts together. “I’m glad you stayed,” he blurted, because it was the truth and because he’d apparently lost the filter between his brain and his mouth. He paused a moment to be horrified at his admission, then continued to ramble on nervously. _Just stop talking, right now, just stop._ “And I’m glad that you won’t get in trouble with the Marmora. They seem like a pretty strict bunch. Like, fifty lashes at the post levels of strictness. I wouldn’t have thought that you’d choose a group with more structure and rules, but that just shows what I know about you, right?” _What is wrong with you? Stop talking!_

 

“Hunk…”

 

“Sorry, that was a weird thing to say. It’s just…” Hunk shook his head, staring up at the ceiling. “Do you need to leave right now?” He asked, hating that the words sounded so plaintive. The thought of Keith leaving again was making his chest hurt. _Nope, no feeling things. It was already decided._ “Why not stay a little longer? Everyone would like to see you.” _And if I say this often enough, maybe you will eventually believe it, or care that I say it, or… stop._

 

“I don’t have that much time, maybe an hour to get to my pick-up point.” Keith powered off the datapad and set it aside with a slight frown. He pulled on his gloves, and then leaned down to tighten the straps on his boots. Hunk wondered how many knives Keith had hidden on his person, either up his sleeves or in his boots, in addition to the Marmora blade he wore on his belt. Keith didn’t seem like he was dressed for a fight, but that was probably just one more deception. Hunk forced himself to focus.

 

“Is that going to take you a whole hour?” He asked.

 

A slight hesitation. “…No. Like, half a varga. Maybe.” Keith paused, looking like he was converting the units of time in his head. Hunk supposed Keith utilized alien measurement systems even more than the rest of them. Living in the castleship with Allura and Coran wasn’t the same as the complete immersion in an alien culture that Keith would have, working with the Marmora. Keith had left behind anything familiar, anything that might have tied him to Earth. _And here, this far out in space, the only thing tying us to Earth is each other, and Keith chose to… Stop it._

 

“So, you could’ve let me sleep a bit longer.” Hunk decided feigned annoyance was the best way of hiding how much his own thoughts disturbed him. He yawned extravagantly and propped himself up with one arm to better see Keith’s reaction.

 

Keith smiled at him, unexpectedly, the expression flickering across his face so quickly that Hunk wasn’t sure he’d seen it at all. “Not if you’re gonna have time to cook me breakfast.”  

 

_Is Keith teasing me? I must be dreaming... or misreading this entire situation._ Hunk studied Keith’s face while he had the excuse, eventually deciding that Keith had found a sense of humour after all this time. Sitting beside him, Keith looked almost happy. _Or, if not happy_ , Hunk amended, _at least somewhat content_. Honestly, it was hard to tell with Keith. _Maybe, slightly less grim than usual would be a more apt description of his expression._

 

Hunk realized he was still gawking at the same time he realized how rare it was to see Keith looking like he was in a good mood, let alone pleased with life. It felt like his heart was being squeezed. _Better look into that. And also, stop staring into his eyes. Jeez, you’re going to freak him out._

 

“You know, just for that, nope. Can’t cook a damn thing.”

 

“This is tyranny.”

 

“You bring it on yourself,” Hunk said, surprising himself into laughing. Keith folded his arms and glared, but he seemed to be fighting a smile. “Lack of breakfast is an entirely self-inflicted condition, caused by a deficit in situational awareness that borders on the extreme,” Hunk joked. Keith appeared to be looking for something to throw at him. Luckily, all the available pillows were currently mashed under Hunk’s upper body. It seemed unlikely that Keith would consider them a possible projectile, anyway. _It’s not like Keith would know how to do anything normal, like have a pillow fight…_ Hunk stopped, suddenly extremely aware that he missed Keith so much it was almost unbearable. For a moment, he couldn’t even breathe. _Oh no._

 “Hunk?” Keith tilted his head to the side, studying him. “Did your… brain crash or something?”

 

_Say something normal. Say something. Say something._ Hunk rallied. “Your fault, waking me up at an ungodly hour and expecting me to have,” he waved a hand for emphasis, “conversations.” Hunk willed his heart rate to slow, certain that Keith could hear the panic in his chest. _Just be normal, for fuck’s sake. Why would that even be a thing that you would worry about? No feeling feelings, remember?_

 

“Why, because I set the banter standard so high?” Keith asked sarcastically, leaning back out of the way when Hunk half-heartedly tried to smack him. He watched Hunk attentively, making absolutely no effort to climb off his bed. Hunk felt grubby and self-conscious, still in his clothes that he’d slept in and sweated through. He pushed his blanket aside and mentally debated the merits of simply kicking Keith off his bed. _Or trying to, at least. Might be easier said than done. But, a foot to the throat couldn’t possibly be misinterpreted, so…_

 

“So, did you just spend the evening staring broodingly at the walls?” Hunk asked, pleased that he sounded somewhat more like his usual self. Keith’s clothing was unrumpled, but Hunk figured the dark colour hid wrinkles as well as bloodstains. The fabric definitely hadn’t originated on Earth; it was probably woven by mutant spiders or something. Keith stretched his arms out in front of him, and Hunk heard the joints pop in his shoulders.

 

“I napped, a little. It’s nice and quiet on the ship. Peaceful, even.”

 

“After you said you’d keep watch?” Hunk managed to keep the accusation out of his voice. He would never have dared to try to go back to sleep on his own after a nightmare like that. He would’ve crawled out of bed and forced himself to stand in the kitchen with every light on. Of course, without Keith there to wake him, he likely would’ve been trapped in the dream till his shouts or flailing dragged him back into consciousness.

 

“I’m a light sleeper. I would’ve woken up if you’d stirred at all.” Keith stated, and Hunk believed him. Even while living in the relative security of the castleship, Keith had never let his guard down. Even when they’d formed Voltron, those walls stayed up. The tension was always there, just beneath the surface, reflexes ready for the slightest signal. Red’s personality had only amplified Keith’s reactions, though the Black lion had managed to buffer them a bit. Hunk couldn’t imagine that Keith was any less hair-trigger in his responses now, when he lived with the Marmora in a warzone.

 

“And did I? I don’t remember. I actually feel pretty well rested though.”

 

“Just once, you started muttering.”

 

“And did you wake me up?”

 

“No, I didn’t want to shake you again. I just talked for a bit, until you settled.” Keith looked decidedly uncomfortable.

 

“About what?” Hunk pressed, intrigued despite himself. _You’re not supposed to care, right?_

 

Keith rubbed the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed. “I dunno. Pilot stuff.” His mouth quirked a little with the confession. “I listed all possible trajectories and issues when landing a deep space cruiser on a planet with atmosphere… And how a pilot can accommodate shifting conditions or enemy fire or excess fuel or payload weight issues and-”

 

“How’d you know I’d gone back to sleep and just didn’t die of boredom?” Hunk asked, fighting a smirk.

 

“All the snoring.” Keith leaned out of range again.

 

“Well, maybe I subconsciously learned something about piloting then.” Hunk hesitated. “Unless you were just, I dunno, reciting the script of _Top Gun_ from memory. Honestly, I’ve seen pilots make combat decisions based on how closely the maneuvers matched scenes from that film.”

 

“… I don’t have it memorized. You’re confusing me with Lance.” Keith sat up a little straighter.

 

“Whatever, Mister My Favourite Old Movie is Probably _Top Gun_.”

 

“Oh, it’s definitely _Top Gun_ ,” Keith admitted, as though he knew Hunk would make fun of him for it, and was entirely at peace with that.

 

Hunk snorted a laugh, relaxing a bit. “That is such a fighter pilot thing. All of you. All of you are obsessed with it. I just don’t see the appeal. I mean, it’s fun to watch once, but it was basically a military recruitment film. The only good acting was from whatshername, Ellen Ripley.”

 

Keith winced. “You mean Kelly McGillis, who played Charlie. Ripley is the main character in _Alien_.”

 

“Oh right…. See, obsessive. Typical.”

 

“I’m not obsessed, that’s common knowledge.” Keith stopped abruptly, turning to look Hunk in the eye. “I’m telling Lance you mixed them up,” he said lightly, as though the consequences of this act wouldn’t haunt Hunk for months. Hunk could picture it now, not a moment’s rest, Lance appearing out of nowhere with detailed presentations and lecture notes, seeing this honest mistake as a personal affront. He’d probably make Hunk watch it again, pausing every few minutes to provide commentary. It would be like the time he’d mixed up two of Lance and Pidge’s favourite video games. The razzing would be endless.  

 

“You wouldn’t dare.”

 

“I might even tell Pidge… Unless, well. I might be persuaded to keep that information to myself.” Telling Pidge was a death threat, and Keith had to know that. Pidge probably carried a picture of Sigourney Weaver in her wallet.

 

“With breakfast, you asshole?”

 

Keith laughed. “Hey, I’m not the one who insulted a classic film. Or rather, two classic films.”

 

“Neither of those films are classics, but I suppose they didn’t let your class watch anything without explosions.”

 

Keith raised an eyebrow. “Jeez, Hunk, how do you really feel about pilots? I had to pass the same math and physics entrance exams that you did.”

 

“What, you mean you’re not all aggressive, oversexed jocks who aren’t happy unless you’re flying so fast it should be considered a near death experience?” Hunk’s words didn’t come out as jokingly as he’d intended.

 

Keith huffed as though offended, although it seemed like he didn’t know how to answer. “Sometimes other things make me happy.” He glared at Hunk.

 

“Yeah, yeah, breakfast, I know.” Hunk rolled his eyes, conceding defeat. “I’ll cook you something, but only because you threatened to tell Pidge that I mixed up her favourite character, played by her favourite actress, with the flight instructor from _Top Gun_. And because I don’t want to be murdered for my mistake in some elaborately mathematical and overly clever way, probably involving a power loader…” Hunk sighed, “in exchange for breakfast, I’ll need your silence on this topic, forever.”

 

“…Seems fair.”

 

“Also, get off my bed.”

 

*

 

“You know, when I see that, my first thought is that I don’t want to put it in my mouth.”

 

“Sounds like something a coward would say.”

 

“No, Hunk, really. I think I just threw up a little.”

 

“Well, I think you’re being overly dramatic, and that’s usually an accusation reserved solely for Lance, so-”

 

“So maybe there’s a… vegetarian option this morning?” Keith asked hopefully, holding up something that looked like a zucchini.

 

“I can’t believe we’ve been in space this long and you haven’t tried one of these yet.”

 

“Because it looks like an unholy cross between a leech and a lotus seed pod? I feel fear when I look at it. Or, I think that’s what I’m feeling.” Keith made a disgusted face and took a step back. “I might be sick.”

 

“It’s actually the closest thing to an intergalactic chicken egg that I’ve found so far, but I think it might actually be some sort of fungi. There just hasn’t been time to figure out any sort of alien taxonomic equivalencies, and really, where would we start?” Hunk held up the offending item, and Keith winced and looked away.

 

“I’m sure Pidge has some ideas.” Keith gestured to the doorway.

 

“Yes, Pidge does. Questions, too. Like, why are you awake at this hour?” Pidge wandered into the kitchen, dressed in a tank top and shorts, looking like she’d slept face down on a laptop. Her hair, always unruly, stuck out at gravity-defying angles. She had a series of equations, seemingly written in sharpie pen, scrawled over her left forearm. Ink smudged her chin.

 

“Hunk’s trying to make me eat this,” Keith blurted. “Save me.”

 

Pidge did a doubletake then, taking off her glasses to wipe at her eyes. “Keith?” She asked, incredulously. “What are you doing here?”

 

“He’s complaining, mostly,” Hunk interjected.

 

“Hopefully being fed breakfast soon.” Keith answered, then staggered back a step as Pidge launched herself upward into his arms. He caught her in a bearhug and managed to rebalance them both before they crashed into Hunk.

 

“How come you don’t greet me like that?” Hunk asked, taking a moment to admire his teammates’ agility and hating how petulant he sounded.

 

“Because I see you every day?” Pidge answered, half-muffled by Keith’s neck, at the same time that Keith mumbled, “Never an appropriate time?”

 

“Well anyway, now that you’re here too, you can help. Keith’s supposed to be chopping tubers, but mostly he’s been whining about the menu.”

 

“Have not,” Keith protested.

 

“So,” Hunk raised his voice for emphasis, “maybe help him finish that, and then get started grating those yellow roots over there.”

 

Keith carried Pidge the three steps to the counter and waited while she disentangled herself and climbed out of his arms. She grinned up at him, completely delighted. Keith seemed perplexed by her reaction. Hunk resisted a sigh. _Other people miss you too. Do you not see that, or do you not care?_

 

“So, what is this, some sort of breakfast therapy club?” When that didn’t get a response, Pidge turned to Keith. “I thought you only made the info drops during the off-shift. Something change?” she asked, selecting a knife from the nearest drawer and testing the edge with her thumb.

 

“No…” Keith paused, thinking over his words. “It just worked out this way this time. It won’t be a habit, as far as I know.” Keith slid half of the tubers towards Pidge and resumed working on his own set.

 

Hunk watched them for a moment, then turned his attention back to the soup stock he’d started. Part of him wanted to call the other paladins to the kitchen, get them to help cook something, then sit around together, just hanging out and enjoying each others’ company. _Just like old times, right?_ The idea nagged at him, half nostalgia and half blatant longing, building up until it hurt. _Get a grip, Hunk._ He sighed, trying to will the feeling away. _There’s no point in being sentimental. Those days are gone._

 

“What are you doing over there, Hunk? Besides staring gloomily into the soup? That, uh, doesn’t give me high hopes about its flavour.” Pidge peered quizzically in his direction, adjusting her glasses. Her voice pulled Hunk back to the present, and he found he was grateful for the distraction.

 

“He’s just worried he might get murdered with a power loader some day,” Keith offered, helpfully.

 

“Like in _Alien_?”

 

“Hey, it’s a legitimate fear.” Hunk glared over his shoulder at Keith.

 

“Was this… a discussion I missed earlier?” Pidge carefully sliced a tuber into exactly equal cubes.

 

“Yeah.” Keith leaned against the counter-top, cleaning a knife with a scrap of cloth. He didn’t appear to be helping to chop anything, at all.  

 

“It’s Keith’s way of criticizing the menu.” Hunk made sure Keith caught his pointed look. Pidge glanced back and forth between them.

 

“Okay, well, I’m obviously not awake enough to catch all the nuance that’s being thrown around here,” Pidge yawned. She abandoned her knife and started to search the cupboards. “Do we have anything caffeinated? Or you know, something with chemicals that will match with my neurotransmitter receptors and act like caffeine?”

 

“Does everyone hate sleep? Is that the issue here?” Hunk found a bottle of silvery leaves and tossed them to Pidge. “Three to a cup.”

 

“Fantastic. And, speaking of sleeping, are you?” Pidge found three teacups and set them out with much more enthusiasm than Hunk felt was warranted.

 

“Am I what?” He stalled, noting that Keith was half-turned towards him, making no effort to pretend he wasn’t listening intently.

 

“Sleeping. What I just said.” Pidge emphasized each word. Hunk wished he had something to throw at her. He considered the soup spoon in his hand and decided it was unworthy as a projectile.

 

“Not really, I guess. You know how it is,” Hunk said, pointedly. “Usually I can’t fall asleep. And when I do manage to, I get nightmares.” Hunk tried to keep resentment out of his voice. Pidge knew this already, and there was no need to make him say it aloud, in front of Keith. _Of course, Keith has seen firsthand what my dreams are like._

 

“Still?” Pidge asked. “I thought they might have gotten better… But why can you sleep on the bridge then?”

 

“I have to sleep somewhere,” Hunk shrugged. “And I feel better knowing you guys are around to wake me up if I need it.”

 

“Maybe…” Keith began hesitantly, as though he couldn’t believe what he was about to say. “Maybe you should move in with Lance.” Keith held up his hands to ward off their protests. “It sounds horrifying, I know, but if you need someone in the room with you…”

 

“Lance could sleep through a missile bombardment. And if he thought he had to look after me, he’d just stay awake all night. We’d still have a sleep-deprived paladin. It wouldn’t solve anything.”

 

“Did you try sleeping in Yellow? Probably not very comfortable, but we could find extra pillows and blankets for you.” Pidge added another leaf to her teacup.

 

“Yeah, that didn’t work either. I just don’t know enough about how the lions interface with human consciousness, or how dreams work, or what triggers a defensive response in the lions. I mean, is it brainwave frequencies? I know Red came to rescue Keith when we were first meeting with the Marmora, but I don’t know what provoked that action, or why Red didn’t rescue him earlier…” Hunk trailed off, too uncomfortable to continue. He didn’t want to tell them that in most of his nightmares, Yellow was present, but wounded or otherwise unable to help him. He didn’t think he could handle their reaction to that particular piece of information.

 

“So…” Pidge prompted, expectantly.

 

“So, don’t worry about it. It’ll work out.” Hunk didn’t mean to snap, but he knew he sounded frustrated.

 

“That seems like the last thing you would say.” Keith’s tone was thoughtful. He examined the knife in his hand, and Hunk was glad that he wasn’t looking at him.

 

“I mean, let me worry about it.”

 

“That… sounds more Hunk-like.” Pidge frowned, pouring the cups of tea with exaggerated care.

 

Hunk grimaced and turned his attention back to the stove. He didn’t hear any footsteps, but a moment later Keith was standing at his elbow. Hunk steeled himself and met Keith’s gaze directly.

 

“Well, I hate to miss out on breakfast, but as it appears to be hell-spawn-chicken egg soup, I’ve really got to get going.” Keith lowered his voice a notch. “Thanks for your help.”

 

Hunk didn’t feel he could say, _thanks for not letting me scream myself awake_ in front of Pidge, so he just nodded. Keith touched his arm lightly, then sauntered out the door without looking back. Hunk stared after him until, across the room, Pidge cleared her throat.

 

“Hunk?” She asked, hesitantly.

 

“Yeah?”

 

Pidge didn’t answer immediately. Instead she headed towards him, carrying the cups of tea. Hunk accepted one gratefully. Holding onto the cup gave him something to do. The third cup of tea remained untouched on the countertop and Hunk stared at it wistfully before catching himself.

 

“What?” He asked again.

 

Pidge stifled a yawn and took a sip of her tea, wincing at its temperature. “Do you see Keith often?”

 

“No, hardly ever. This is only the third time I’ve seen him, since he left Voltron.”

 

“I knew he probably made the drops. I didn’t think to wait up for him.” Pidge sighed, looking into her teacup sadly. “I’ve been distracted, looking for Matt. Every lead just fizzles out.” She gestured with her empty hand.

 

“It was only by chance that I met up with Keith the first time. It’s not like he’s knocking on our doors for a visit.”

 

“Do you think he’s okay? Blade of Marmora agents don’t exactly seem to have a lengthy life expectancy. I mean, none of us are really safe but statistically, those odds aren’t good.” Pidge tapped one fingernail against her teacup, biting her lip.

 

“He doesn’t seem to want to come back, so…” Hunk shrugged. He glanced at Pidge, wondering if he looked as dismayed as she did.

 

“I miss him,” Pidge whispered.

 

“Yeah, me too.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any feedback, comments, criticism, etc. is greatly appreciated. I love Pidge but have no idea how to write her. The plot (such as it is) returns next chapter. Hoping to get back on track with more frequent updates too.


	4. Hunk visits a new planet and it's awful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left kudos or comments – your feedback makes me happy! This chapter rated M for swearing, violence, extrajudicial killings, xenophobia, and a couple comments about Galra interbreeding with conquered and colonized alien populations. I’m not happy with this chapter (it’s all over the place) but I needed to set up a few things, so sorry for info-dumping. Don’t worry about the aliens, they’re mostly just scenery. All characters depicted are 18+.

 

 

Four

 

“Look alive, team,” Lance’s voice jolted Hunk back to awareness from… wherever he’d been. He stared at the screens in front of him, watching the numbers scroll past in a blur, alarm lights flickering in amber pulses. The shuttle jolted, g-forces suddenly increased, and Hunk staggered against the movement, trying to keep his feet. He gripped the screen with one hand to keep his balance and typed commands as fast as he could with the other, his fingers slippery with blood. Nausea rolled over him in waves, and the warning lights changed to red, a claxon starting to blare.

 

A loud bang and the shuttle lurched sideways, throwing Hunk to the floor. He spat bile and clawed his way to his feet, looking around for Lance and Pidge, knowing that they were in the shuttle with him, they always were, they had to be. But their stations were empty, blood smeared over the safety harnesses, no one at the controls. Hunk threw himself towards the helm, tripped and fell and tried again, panic filling his entire being. The shuttle shook as it breached atmosphere, it was definitely crashing, and his friends were gone, dead. Smoke filled the cabin, and Hunk couldn’t breathe, and then Lance’s voice, again, coming from nowhere…

 

“Hunk, buddy, wakey-wakey…”

 

And a moment later Hunk opened his eyes, his heart thudding in his chest. He gripped the armrests on his chair as though he could physically pull himself up into consciousness and away from the dream. He took a deep breath and held it a moment, trying to calm himself down. His vision was still blurry, but he could tell he was on the bridge, at his station. Lance and Pidge stared back at him, standing beside his console, and apparently using their bodies to block him from view.

 

“I’m awake,” Hunk whispered, “what’s going on?” He was pleased with how normal he sounded, and both Pidge and Lance immediately looked relieved.

 

“We’ve got dignitaries on the big screen.” Lance pronounced the word dignitaries as though it offended him to use it, and Hunk got the impression he was repeating orders given by Allura. “They want to ally with Voltron, join the Alliance. We were just gonna let you snooze ‘cause god knows you need it, but uh…” Lance hesitated. “Bad dreams, huh man?” He patted Hunk on the shoulder, concerned but distracted. “Maybe wipe your face before you meet them?”

 

Hunk touched his face, surprised to discover his cheeks were wet. “The hell?”

 

“You started crying in your sleep, so we had to wake you. And this group, they’re called Arziin or something, or their planet’s called Arziin, I dunno. They demanded a video meeting so they could see us before they meet us, like some sort of cultural thing. I guess they were scared we’d look like Galra? Anyway…” Lance turned to face the main screens on the bridge, still blocking Hunk from view. “Come see them when you’re ready, ‘cause honestly, hot damn.”

 

Hunk rubbed his eyes and glanced at Pidge, who mouthed ‘good enough’ and returned to stand beside Shiro and Allura. He allowed Lance to pull him to his feet and followed him numbly across the bridge, where the negotiations were wrapping up. The Arziin, who to Hunk resembled vaguely reptilian but beautifully-striped antelopes, looked him over briefly before returning their attention to Allura.

 

Hunk stood in silence, pushing the dream from his mind and trying to focus. He watched the aliens, attempting to analyse their responses to Allura’s questions, searching for patterns. By the time the meeting had ended, all he’d managed to gather was that the Arziin hated the Galra with the burning heat of a thousand suns, that they liked Allura better than Shiro, and that Lance was correct in that they were unreasonably attractive. _And if I hadn’t slept through most of this meeting, I might be more useful to my team now…_

 

Hunk resisted the urge to fidget until the last screen had gone dark, standing behind his team the way the Arziin had guards standing behind their spokesperson. He fought down the anxiety that coiled in his gut, keeping his expression carefully neutral, hating that now he was far more nervous dealing with his teammates than he was meeting potentially hostile alien civilizations. He worried that they’d ask him what was going on, and then he’d have to tell them, or lie, and then either way that would make it worse, turn it into a spiral where he wouldn’t even know what to worry about first. Hunk claimed a datapad from a nearby station, just for something to hold in his hands. He barely managed not to jump when Shiro started speaking.

 

“So, what do we know?”

 

Lance piped up first. “They’re hot, and they hate the Galra. We definitely need to help them.”

 

“They’re more than a little paranoid.” Pidge stepped up beside Hunk and nudged him with her elbow. “Did you get that too? I saw you watching them.”

 

_Thank you, Pidge._ “Yeah, they seemed on edge, but it’s hard to tell for sure. I mean, they’re aliens, who knows if we’re reading them correctly?” Hunk paused to gather his thoughts. _Be useful_. “They liked Allura, or at least were more willing to answer her questions. They definitely had a different response to Shiro, but that could be because his questions were about military strategy, and tactics, not diplomacy. Or because they thought Allura was speaking for all of us, and were annoyed that she let Shiro ask questions too. Or maybe they recognized Shiro’s arm as Galra tech, and they were worried about it. They really seemed to hate anything to do with the Galra.”

 

Shiro nodded. “That’s understandable, given their history. I contacted Kolivan before this meeting to see if he had any intel to share. The planet’s considered a backwater, with little strategic importance. The Galra conquered it maybe two hundred years ago, left a squadron to rule the population, and haven’t done much else with it. There’s a few stations for refueling, but it’s not on any major supply lines. And there are satellites in orbit around it for relaying messages, but it doesn’t seem to be a vital part of the system. Kolivan said the only reason the Marmora even had it on their maps is because they had a couple recruits that were part-Arziin. Apparently, any Galra hybrids are loathed, and the ones that survive to adulthood either flee the planet or join the Galra as mercenaries.”

 

Allura grimaced, as though she had a bad taste in her mouth. “Regardless of it’s strategic importance, we need to help any potential allies.”

 

“Yes, and Kolivan was quite clear that most of the population wants all Galra off the planet. Unfortunately, when the Galra first arrived, a small subset of the Arziin made deals with them, and that set a bad precedent. Since then, each government has been a puppet dictatorship, under Galra control.”

 

“Have the Marmora tried to influence the situation? I’d like to know what we’re getting into here,” Allura asked, a frown creasing her forehead.

 

“Kolivan stated that they hadn’t tried a direct offensive against the Galra forces there. He thought it would be a lot of risk for little benefit.” Shiro hesitated, as though he knew that Allura wouldn’t like what he was about to say. Allura looked as though she knew what was coming.

 

“He sent assassins, though, didn’t he?” She asked quietly, her voice sad.

 

“Yeah, a few years ago. His Arziin-hybrid agents wanted to, and he let them. They took out most of Arziin’s government, but nothing changed. The posts were filled with replacements from the general population, and everything continued on as it had before.”

 

“Kolivan must have known…”

 

“Yes, I think so.” Shiro frowned. “But he still allowed it. If nothing else, it signaled to the Arziin that someone was watching. I think that we have more opportunity now. The Arziin know they’re not alone in this anymore, and they’ve taken the first step by reaching out.”

 

“But does this group speak for their entire planet? They seemed annoyed when we asked.” Pidge butted back into the conversation. “What if, by some horrible chance, opinions have changed and the majority of the population is pro-Galra? What do we do then?” Pidge typed something into a nearby station, calling up a map around them. She combed through galaxies until she found the system containing Arziin. “Strategically, the place is just about useless. I’m all for liberating it anyway, if that’s what they want.”

 

“I doubt the majority is pro-Galra. And it doesn’t matter if the planet’s location is useful, they still deserve to live in peace.” Allura’s ears twitched in annoyance.

 

“I’m not arguing with that, at all,” Pidge protested. “I just get a weird vibe from these guys. Seems like they don’t trust each other, but want us to trust them.”

 

“They do seem wary, but that’s understandable. They’ve reached out to Voltron from a Galra-occupied planet. Some of their own people work for the Galra, however willingly. We cannot abandon them, not when they’ve risked their lives already.” Allura glanced at Shiro, who nodded.

 

“Then it’s decided. We’ll clear the Galra off their planet, and what they decide to do after is up to them.” Shiro issued orders briskly, detailing their plan of attack. Hunk nodded in agreement when anyone looked at him, still half-dazed from the jolt of being thrown straight from a nightmare into a diplomatic meeting. He headed to his station and started searching through the databases, seeking anything that could help them.

 

 “Are you okay, Hunk? Shiro and Allura were wondering.” Pidge appeared at his side, leaning against the console. She scanned the datasets he’d arranged with approval.

 

“Yeah, just a bad dream,” Hunk sighed. … _Where you were dead and Lance was dead and I was in the process of crashing a shuttle…_ He swiped through the limited data they had on the planet. At each new planet they visited, they updated the ship’s databases as best they could, absorbing any new information they could get their hands on. Sometimes, their knowledge was still 10,000 years out of date, but that was happening less and less often as they traded liberation from the Galra for the universe’s research. “They sent you to ask?”

 

Pidge shrugged. “They’re busy, and I was wondering the same thing. Shiro said you looked like you’d run from the room if he said anything, so he didn’t. It doesn’t mean they aren’t worried. Allura’s already sent Coran to check the ship’s cryo-storage for some sort of ancient Altean remedy, so watch out for that.”

 

“Yeah, that could be a horrific surprise. Hopefully it’s something you drink, and not an-”

 

Pidge smacked him lightly on the arm. “Gross, Hunk.”

 

“Hey, you didn’t even know what I was gonna say-”

 

“I can guess,” Pidge laughed. “But really, you’re okay? It was…” The smile left her face. “I didn’t like it, seeing you like that. And then, even after you woke up, that whole meeting you just seemed so…” Pidge sighed, shaking her head.

 

“I’m okay, Pidge. Really.”

 

For a second it seemed like Pidge wasn’t going to let it go, but then she relented. “Okay. I’ll leave it alone. For now.”

 

Hunk nodded. “Good.”

 

“What’s good?” Lance appeared on Hunk’s other side. “Did you find out anything about the Arziin’s language?”

 

“Why, are you crafting the perfect pick-up line and unable to figure out if it’s culturally appropriate?” Pidge asked.

 

“…maybe…” Lance grinned. “C’mon Pidge, you’ve seen them.”

 

Pidge rolled her eyes. “Yes, I have.”

 

“And…” Lance gestured for her to continue.

 

“And even if they’re interested in banging aliens from other planets, meaning you by the way, because you’re the alien in this case, and being colonized by Galra overlords hasn’t soured them on that whole experience, have you considered that they just might be too busy overthrowing their oppressive government to spend time snuggling with you?” Pidge paused for breath. “And have you considered that even if they’re interested, maybe you’ll find out that they reproduce like the xenomorphs in _Alien_ , and we’ll all wake up one morning to the unfortunate surprise that a horrific, nearly-unstoppable killing machine has burst from your chest and is now stalking us throughout our castleship home?”

 

“That’d be troubling,” Hunk commented, looking from Pidge to Lance.

 

“That’s not something I’d thought of, no.” Lance shrugged. “But, also consider the scientific ramifications of this kind of intercultural exploration. I’ll write you dweebs an essay, even, tell you all about it-”

 

“Please don’t.” Pidge winced. “And please don’t pretend you have any sort of scientific motivation for, I dunno, screwing your way across the galaxy.”

 

“Okay,” Hunk held up his hands to separate Pidge and Lance, who were leaning closer and closer together over his workstation. “I’m glad you two have decided to have this conversation here, in front of me, but on an entirely unrelated note I’m actually just going to leave now…” _And I can’t believe that an hour ago I was sobbing in my sleep at the thought of losing them…_

 

Lance laughed and clapped a hand over Hunk’s shoulder. “Fine, fine, I’ll let it go. But anyways, Hunk, Pidge and I are having a tournament tonight. It’s been ages since she’s agreed to this level of combat, so we need to take advantage. The game’s _Ultimate Universe Avengers 4: Rise of the Morlocks, Go-Kart edition._ We need an impartial third person, in case there’s any dispute in the scores.”

 

“Yeah, I might have time.” Hunk saw the invitation for what it was. _I’ve even managed to freak Lance out today. Great._

 

*

 

“Is it just me, or is everyone on this planet hot as fuck? I mean, we knew they were hot from seeing them on the screens, but now, it’s like the dial’s been turned up to eleven.”

 

Lance’s voice drifted over the hum of the crowd, and Hunk spared a glance his way. They stood on a small platform in a city-sized version of a town square, dressed in full paladin armor, surrounded on three sides by strikingly beautiful alien beings. The blue star that served as this planet’s main sun cast a cold light over the proceedings, and while the air itself was warm, Hunk couldn’t help but shiver. They’d helped liberate this planet, or at least its only inhabited continent, from Galra rule almost two weeks ago. Today, they’d returned to help solidify their alliance with the planet’s new government and ensure that they could all work together to defeat the Galra Empire. It was a pattern they’d repeated dozens of times on new worlds, but Hunk couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off about the newly-appointed officials. Of course, if Lance offended them irreparably with his ogling first, any reservations Hunk had would be moot.

 

Hunk blamed Keith for his misgivings. He wanted to believe, fervently, that everyone, given a chance, would choose peace. He wanted to be sure that once the battle finished and the Galra were kicked off a planet, the bloodshed would end. He didn’t expect everyone to get along, but he hoped that any power struggles would be quick and bloodless, and that all sides would eventually agree that rebuilding a planet would take all of them, working together. Realistically, Hunk knew that people made bad choices. He’d seen the king of the Olkari sell out his own people. But, he hoped that traitors and conspirators were rare. He hoped that people profiting off the suffering of others were few. He also knew that his hopes had a negligible effect on reality. _Of course, Keith would have me believe that all these sexy aliens are waiting for Voltron to leave so they can continue murdering their political prisoners. And that’s a bit dark, even for Keith._

 

Still, something was off about the Arziin. They were, Hunk had to admit, despite not wanting to objectify every inhabitant of an entire planet, incredibly attractive. He just wasn’t certain, when he thought about it, why he thought so. The Arziin were vaguely humanoid in appearance, striped in hues of scarlet and black, or green and violet. A third of their number had four arms instead of two. They walked upright and stood taller than humans, though not by much, and though they ranged from lithe to curvaceous to angular in their body structure, Hunk couldn’t tell if they had different genders, or ages, or social statuses. It didn’t seem important though, not when they were all so ridiculously good-looking.

 

“It must be pheromones or something,” Hunk turned to Lance. “Maybe a defense mechanism? Look at their stripes. On Earth, that would either be defensive camouflage, or a warning about venom. So… Maybe that’s what’s weird about them? We’re just having a strange reaction to them up close? We saw them on screens, and a few of them in the battle, but we were never in close contact with them, so we wouldn’t have experienced the pheromones.”

 

“So, they could make predators like them, once they’re spotted, or they could lure prey to them, despite the warning coloration.” Pidge spoke up on Hunk’s other side. “Of course, it’s all speculation here, because our knowledge is limited to how things work on Earth. If they are producing pheromones, are they doing so voluntarily? Is our response intended, or a side-effect of our own physiology? How do the Galra react to this population?”

 

“So, you think they’re hot too, is what you’re saying,” Lance stated, his eyes on the crowd.

 

Pidge shrugged. “Do I really think they’re hot, if my reaction to seeing them is being manipulated by outside influences?”

 

Lance sighed. “Just say yes, Pidge.”

 

They spent another hour standing on the platform behind the new planetary government, a symbolic gesture but one that, according to Allura, added legitimacy and political clout to a faction that others could rally around. Usually, Hunk accepted that this was a boring but necessary step towards peace, and withstood the self-congratulatory speeches of the new governments by simply zoning out. It was a matter of routine now. Voltron helped liberate a planet, with or without help from the Marmora, or the Resistance, or whatever armies the planet’s inhabitants could cobble together. They’d drive off the Galra, and return a week later for a parade, and speeches, and sometimes celebratory dinners. He’d stopped giving the process much thought, until Keith had mentioned the possibility of further violence. _And we know that their old government was hand-picked and propped up by the Galra._

 

Today, Hunk was very much aware that the group of Arziin now in government positions were not the same group that had first contacted them about fighting the Galra. This new group had the support of the crowd though, and appeared competent enough. Rubble had been cleared from the streets in the city center, the wounded had been tended, there weren’t any riots, nothing was on fire. Hunk didn’t want to be a downer by asking where the first group was. It was always possible that they hadn’t survived the battle, or something.

 

He sighed and scanned the crowd, noticing that Kolivan and a few Blade of Marmora stood to his right, at the edge of the square. They all appeared to be gazing attentively in different directions, scanning the crowd and the buildings lining the parade grounds.

 

“The Marmora are looking for snipers,” Lance commented softly, his voice pitched low.

 

“Are they?” Hunk whispered.

 

“They keep looking at the windows in the buildings around the square, and checking the rooftops.”

 

“Well, that’s just great…” Hunk studied the Marmora again. The crowd gave them a wide berth, a reaction Hunk had seen repeated on each planet they’d freed. Shiro and Allura repeatedly emphasized the value of the Marmora and their efforts to take down the Empire, but so far each fledgling government remained wary. Their responses varied in tone from apologetic to contemptuous, and most refused to work with Galra, even those Galra sworn to destroy the Empire that oppressed them. Hunk figured they were entitled to their opinions. It wasn’t like he’d grown up on a planet enslaved for decades or centuries by evil alien overlords. He didn’t know what that would do to a person.

 

He glanced at the gathered Marmora again, trying to pick out Keith. They all had their hoods up and masks on, but none were Keith’s height. He was still looking when the final speech wrapped up, and Pidge elbowed him in the ribs to prompt him to join in with the round of applause. Hunk clapped politely and followed her off-stage, Lance at his heels. They were ushered into an elegant building and shown to a quiet parlour, their gracious hosts stating that it would be culturally appropriate if they took a few moments to compose themselves before dinner.

 

Hunk sank into a chair, glancing around. “Do you think this room is bugged?”

 

“Hunk!” Allura hissed. “You’ll insult our hosts.”

 

“Only if the room is bugged,” Lance spoke up. “And where’s everyone who helped us fight the Galra? I don’t know any of these very attractive people. They’re all new, beautiful faces.”

 

“Perhaps those who make great war-leaders, don’t make good peace-time government officials. Maybe it’s a taboo to hold both roles here. We don’t know much about Arziin culture. We have to act in good faith.” Allura frowned. “I’m not dismissing your questions. Liberating a planet can cause catastrophic upheaval, depending on which factions come to power. We need to be open, and use diplomacy to build our alliance.”

 

“Catastrophic upheaval? You mean civil war?” Hunk asked. Allura winced but didn’t answer.

 

“Do you ever worry that we might support the wrong faction sometimes? I’d at least like to see someone from the original group that contacted us.” Lance settled himself on the arm of Hunk’s chair.

 

“As long as we agree the Galra Empire needs to be destroyed, shouldn’t we work with any government that’s competent enough to rebuild their own civilization?” Shiro asked, walking over to join them. “I’m not sure if now is the time to ask these questions. We have to build the Alliance first, if we want to have any hope of defeating Zarkon. Once we do that, we can check up on all of these governments and make sure we didn’t put a dictator on the throne, so to speak.”

 

There wasn’t much Hunk could say to argue with that. He caught Lance’s eye, but Lance just shook his head. Before he could consider what Lance meant by that, they were called to dinner. Their hosts greeted them warmly, all smiles, and Hunk couldn’t help but feel he was a trophy being put on display.

 

*

 

The planet warmed as its main sun set in the north, and a smaller one rose just over the edge of the horizon in the east. The sunlight reflected at odd angles off a huge, scarred moon, creating a shadowy twilight, and left Hunk wondering just what was going on with this place, physics-wise. He’d slipped away after dinner, telling Lance and Pidge that he needed some air and knowing that they’d cover for him. He could tell that they hadn’t liked it, and that they’d wanted to come with him, but one absence was easier to explain than three, and he’d spoken up first.

 

The streets of the city were dusty, paved in black cobblestone. Once away from the parade square, all semblance of order faded, and each street became a narrow, twining alleyway. Every so often, the alleys opened to show another grimy square, or a neglected park. No one wandered through them, and Hunk remembered one of the new, grinning officials mentioning a curfew being enforced, for safety. It wasn’t a good start to a new era of peace and freedom.

 

He’d wandered for at least a varga, half-lost in the maze of empty streets, when he found the gallows. It stood by itself in a small open square, hemmed in by tall buildings constructed of the same materials that paved the streets. Two small fires, built of something that sparked blue and smelt heavily of incense, flanked the gallows. Hunk didn’t want to look at it directly, but he couldn’t stop himself. It was odd that aliens would execute each other using a manner so familiar to humans.

 

Hunk lifted his eyes and counted the bodies that had been left out in the night, swaying a tiny amount in the breeze. Six. He took a breath, feeling panic clench in his chest. He knew he should go closer, look the dead in their faces and make sure they weren’t the same Arziin that had asked for their help, but he couldn’t. He stood rooted to the spot, unable to move, barely able to breathe. He couldn’t make himself take a step in any direction, not even when three Arziin appeared on the other side of the square. They noticed him immediately. _Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no._

 

The guards advanced on him, clutching their rifles, and still he just stood there and stared at them, watched them approach numbly. He hadn’t brought his bayard – it remained with Yellow, and even if this became a diplomatic mess he didn’t think he was in any danger here. Sure, the beautiful aliens were angry he’d stumbled across their execution grounds, but they’d all been working together an hour ago. It was the fact that there were even executions taking place, that was the issue. _Keith was right. I told him he had a shitty outlook on the world and yet he was right. The Galra aren’t the only problem here._

 

Hunk took a deep breath and put his thoughts in order. He clenched his hands into fists to keep them from shaking, but he wasn’t sure what he was feeling anymore. The Arziin, soldiers or guards or whatever they were, stopped about five paces from Hunk, flanking him. Their stripes seemed to move in the flickering light from the fires. They didn’t lower their weapons.

 

“Paladin, a curfew is in effect. We worry that wandering alone may be unsafe for you, given the recent upheavals. Allow us to escort you back to the festivities.” The one of Hunk’s right spoke, tall and gleaming beautifully in the firelight. Its voice was soft and raspy, with a sultry undertone that all the Arziin had. _That’s gotta be the pheromones._

 

Hunk stood his ground. “I can find my own way.”

 

If the aliens were surprised by his resistance, they didn’t show it. “We are concerned with your safety, not your navigational skills, Paladin. We will attend you.”

 

Hunk had a feeling he was about to be frog-marched back to the dinner, and dropped at Shiro’s feet. _I’m sure he’ll love that._ He shook his head and held out his hands, showing that they were empty.

 

“Sorry, but I don’t want to trouble you. I mean, you’re supposed to be guarding the…” Hunk gestured at the gallows but couldn’t make himself say it. “…That thing over there. I’ll return directly, if that makes you feel any -oof.”

 

His chest armor took the brunt of it, but the Arziin had hit him hard enough with the rifle to knock the wind out of him. Hunk dropped to one knee, gasping, his earlier panic fading into something much closer to irritation. _Well, they could have aimed for my face, so that’s a plus._

 

“Oh, c’mon, that’s just bad for diplomacy,” he muttered, coughing. “You guys are a lot stronger than you look.” He started to stand, but a hand gripped his hair and yanked his head up, knocking him off-balance. Hunk began to think that he might actually need to fight. _Allura’s going to be pissed if I get into a fight with our new allies, but she’s also going to be pissed if I don’t defend myself and end up dying. There is just no pleasing her…_ Hunk gathered himself, thinking that, if nothing else, he could overpower the guard nearest to him. He eyed the alien, wondering how he could wrestle the rifle away from it without either getting shot or accidentally breaking its arms.

 

“What’s going on here? Unhand the Paladin.” A voice spoke from the alleyway behind Hunk. The tone demanded obedience.

 

Hunk was released almost immediately, and cautiously rose to his feet, keeping his hands visible. The Arziin were bristling, snake-like in their rage. Their teeth were bared, and appeared much sharper than they had before. Hunk risked a glance behind him and saw four Marmora agents in full armor, masks covering their faces.

 

“He’s breaking curfew, and refuses to be escorted to the main square. We cannot allow him to wander through the city.” The Arziin addressed the Marmora, hatred flickering over its otherwise lovely face. It hefted its rifle and Hunk felt a frisson of alarm.  

 

“We’ll escort him back. Return to your posts.” One of the Marmora stepped forward and took Hunk’s arm, tugging him into their group until he stood in the center of them. Hunk noted that none of the Marmora spared a glance at the gallows, or at least, not that he could see.

 

The Arziin didn’t like it, but they were outnumbered, and two of the Marmora were even bigger than Hunk. The Arziin closest spat on the ground, one hissed “Galra-scum,” and then as a group they turned gracefully and strolled away across the square.  

 

Hunk found himself in what appeared to be a Marmora foot patrol. They didn’t speak to him, and having decided after a cursory once-over that he was unharmed, they led him away from the square and deeper into the maze of alleyways. The agents stayed with Hunk until the streets widened. Moonlight bathed the ground, making walking easy despite the uneven cobbles. One by one, the Marmora peeled away from the group, disappearing down alleyways, or simply fading into the shadows. Hunk could see the parade square up ahead, lit with glimmering torches, when the last remaining one pulled Hunk off the street and into a shadowy park.

 

“What the fuck were you thinking?” The Blade hissed, and Hunk stared at him, puzzled, until Keith removed his mask and glared up at him. “Do you have a fucking death-wish?”

 

“Keith…” Hunk began, but Keith interrupted.

 

“What did I tell you about wandering off the parade-route? It would be so easy to make your death look like an accident. They’d just say that a Galra-sympathizer was still in the city, and saw a chance to strike against Voltron, and that would be it.” Keith looked like he wanted to shove Hunk for emphasis. He kept his arms tightly against his sides instead, hands clenched into fists.

 

“We just helped liberate this planet. The new government doesn’t want me dead.”

 

“The new government doesn’t want to be inconvenienced.” Keith whispered angrily. “They’re still in the process of consolidating their power. They’d rather you stayed at dinner and not go poking around in the remains of the old government.”

 

“So that’s who was…” Hunk gulped. “Hanging there? The pro-Galra faction?”

 

“What’s left of them,” Keith sneered.

 

“So, you put them there,” Hunk accused, but Keith shook his head.

 

“We were on the ground first, and captured any who surrendered. As per our agreement, we delivered them to your new government, alive. That they didn’t stay that way says more about the government than the Marmora.”

 

Hunk suddenly felt more exhausted than he’d ever been in his life. He let himself sink to the ground and stretched out his legs, trying to clear his head. Without hesitation, Keith followed him down, kneeling in the grass beside him. A soft breeze flowed through the park, rattling the leaves on the trees like chimes. Hunk rubbed the back of his neck, trying to tamp down his distress. Keith folded his limbs seiza-style, studying Hunk with an attentiveness that he would’ve found much more intrusive in broad daylight.

 

“What about the ones who originally approached us?” Hunk asked. “I haven’t seen them since then. We knew they weren’t pro-Galra: they came to ask for our help. Do you think they became, I dunno, politically unpopular?”

 

Keith shrugged. “I don’t know. I can ask around, if you really want to know that answer.”

 

“It’s better to know.”

 

“It won’t make any difference. The Coalition is backing this government. We’ll finish clearing out the pro-Galra conspirators and then move on to the next planet. We’ve wasted enough time here already.”

 

“Meaning you’ll kill civilians, non-combatants. Fucking hell, Keith. These are people, not Galra soldiers.”

 

“They’re not non-combatants if they’re trying to kill you. And Galra soldiers are still people, Hunk.” Keith’s voice had lost its angry tone, and was now just resigned. “And we’re not killing anyone, if we can help it.”

 

“But you’re delivering them to their deaths, one way or another.”

 

“Voltron did that, the moment you all agreed to liberate this planet.” Keith sounded almost apologetic.

 

Hunk sat quietly for a moment. He leaned back on his hands, staring up into the night sky. The light from the torches and the moon wasn’t enough to distract from the stars. They glittered softly in a myriad of unknown constellations. Keith followed his gaze, looking at the sky, and Hunk risked a sidelong glance at him. It was a mistake. He wasn’t prepared for the emotions that hit, frightening in their intensity - the mixture of anger and disappointment and, underneath both, desire. _Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no._

 

Hunk tried to hide his disquiet by focusing on the stars, but he must have shown something, because he could feel Keith looking at him again. He braced himself and turned to Keith, who’d settled in much closer than necessary. The breeze rustled Keith’s hair, and Hunk noted that it was getting longer before firmly putting that thought out of his mind.

 

“Why didn’t you fight them? I saw them hit you,” Keith asked, his quiet tone hiding the steel in the question. To Hunk, it sounded more like Keith was declaring his intent to return to the gallows square and murder everyone there. Still, it was a distraction, and he leapt after it.

 

“I was kind of startled, at first. And then I didn’t want to hurt them, or cause a diplomatic incident.”

 

“Those are stupid reasons for not fighting back,” Keith said bluntly. “Who cares about diplomacy? There’s nothing worth our time on this planet. It’s weird that the Galra bothered with it at all. The fact that they did is the only thing that made it interesting.” Keith trailed off. “And that’s beside the point. You shouldn’t worry about hurting people if they’ve already started hurting you.”

 

“You think rescuing these people from the Galra is a waste of time?” Hunk phrased the statement as a question, but he already knew Keith’s answer.

 

“Not entirely.”

 

“But mostly, you do,” Hunk prompted.

 

Keith frowned. “Yes, because it is. Voltron needs to focus on finding a way to stop Zarkon and Haggar. The Marmora need to track down Lotor and disrupt the Empire’s quintessence supply. Instead, Voltron’s in a parade on a planet in the absolute middle of nowhere, trying to make friends with a group of aliens who barely have atmospheric-level flight figured out, and-”

 

“And you’re stuck here, watching the parade, making sure no one shoots us while we’re sitting ducks in the parade square.” Hunk filled in the rest. “I get it.”

 

“Do you?” Keith snapped, then shook his head. “Sorry,” he muttered.  “It’s frustrating.”

 

Keith lifted his hand as though he was going to reach out and touch Hunk, then thought better of it. He glanced over Hunk’s shoulder and Hunk turned to follow. Someone was crossing the parade ground, heading in their direction. White paladin armor gleamed in the torchlight, and from the stride Hunk decided it was Lance. It quickly became apparent that Lance hadn’t actually spotted them, and was preparing to head down an alleyway.

 

“It’s Lance,” Hunk said.

 

“I know.” Keith hefted a nearby rock and threw it. It hit Lance on his hip, and he turned towards them, swearing softly.

 

“Hey, what’s the deal, assholes?” Lance asked cheerfully, stepping off the street and into the park. “Hunk, you made fun of me for wanting to make out with sexy aliens, and now you’re here making out with Keith?”

 

“What!?” Keith and Hunk asked, together. Hunk felt that neither of them had sounded as appalled as they should have been.

 

“I mean, Keith hardly counts, but still…”

 

“We weren’t making out, jeez.” Hunk started to climb to his feet.

 

“I dunno, kind of looked like Keith was in your lap from a distance.” Lance grinned, delighted at the insinuation.

 

“Keep your fantasies to yourself, Lance.” Keith rose gracefully to his feet, only to stagger a few steps as Lance crushed him into a hug.

 

“Long time no see, buddy,” Lance laughed. Keith sputtered, his arms pinned to his sides. “I was gonna pick you up and twirl you around, but…”

 

“I’ll break your arms,” Keith growled, and Lance finally released him.

 

“Nice to see you too. Anyway, Hunk, you’ve got like ten dobashes to get back to the dinner reception and act like you never left. Pidge sent me to find you. Shiro’s already suspicious.”

 

“Why doesn’t Shiro know what you’re doing?” Keith asked.

 

“He’s busy,” Hunk answered, at the same time Lance said, “he’s stressed.”

 

“He’s always stressed, and busy. That’s his job. You should still tell him where you’re going. What if we hadn’t stopped the guards?” Keith demanded.

 

“What guards?” Lance asked. “And did you find our guys… or ladies? I honestly couldn’t tell but-”

 

“Never mind,” Hunk interrupted Lance, then turned to Keith. “And not all of us are as close to Shiro as you. Especially now, when he’s just…”

 

“Just what?”

 

“Just… hard to approach, I guess. We don’t want to bother him with anything trivial.” Hunk explained. Keith raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond.

 

“Okay, we don’t have time for you two to stand and stare at each other all night. Hunk, we gotta go.” Lance gripped Hunk’s arm and tugged him in the direction of the main square. Hunk was too tired to resist. He turned back once, looking for Keith, but the Blade was already gone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What are friends for, if not being relentlessly embarrassing? Lance gets it. Anyway, this was an extra long chapter in case season six murders me. I edited it until I got sick of looking at it, but there’s probably still issues. Let me know what you think.


	5. Hunk doesn't yell but still hates feelings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left kudos or comments – your feedback makes me happy! This chapter rated M for swearing. All characters depicted are 18+.

 

Five

 

Telling the team about the executions went about as well as he’d expected, and the after-dinner party had reached new levels of awkwardness. Hunk lurked by the drinks table, sipping some sort of fizzy alien liqueur, and glowering at any of the smiling, murderous alien politicians who dared to approach him. His expression kept him isolated, and that was exactly how he wanted it. He wasn’t sure he could behave civilly with anyone right now. He felt it would be best, for everyone, if he was left alone for a bit. _And to get off this planet as quickly as possible… which doesn’t seem all that likely, anymore._

 

Hunk finished his drink and grabbed another, deftly sidestepping one of the beautiful Arziin who’d wandered too close. He wanted to blame Keith for his bad mood, but he knew it wasn’t fair. _At least, not entirely._ He was angry at the Arziin for tarnishing something positive, a new beginning for their planet, with vicious power-struggles. He was pissed off at Keith and the Marmora for helping the Arziin track down and murder each other more efficiently, even if it was only the traitors. _Also unlikely._ He was furious with himself for being naïve enough to believe that his work with Voltron was unequivocally good. And if he wanted to be completely honest with himself, he was doubly angry with Keith, for forcing him to look critically at the effects of his actions. _And that’s unfair. As was established._

 

Hunk dodged a graceful server who offered up a plate of raw mammalian hearts, and found a new corner to stand in. Another server, carrying a tray of slender glasses which held tiny, imprisoned fish, began to head his way. They stopped when he folded his arms and glared at them. Hunk put his back to the wall, double-checked all the available exits, and made sure he wasn’t visible to anyone looking in the windows. He wanted to squeeze his eyes shut and block out the world, but couldn’t risk how vulnerable that would make him. It was difficult to convince his racing heart that he wasn’t in danger. Because, ultimately, he probably wasn’t. He’d annoyed and embarrassed some of the politicians here, but that usually wasn’t a death sentence. The Arziin, or their political class, were, for the short amount of time that he’d known them, petty, scheming, and autocratic. They weren’t evil.

 

He’d known, deep down, that reporting the executions wouldn’t change the coalition’s plans. It wasn’t Voltron’s job to interfere in alien governments, poking around to make sure no one was slaughtered unnecessarily. The Arziin would join the alliance, and be free from the Galra, and whatever they did to each other in their own time, well, that wasn’t Team Voltron’s business. He had just hoped, vainly, that Keith hadn’t been right. _Admit it, he upsets you, and he upsets you the most when he tells you the truth._

 

Shiro and Allura had accepted his bad news with resignation. They hadn’t seemed surprised. Allura offered a polite but scathing condemnation of capital punishment during times of civil unrest, but even she couldn’t directly order clemency for traitors and conspirators. The Arziin politicians surrounding them had offered benign platitudes about security and assurances that no one had died without a trial first. Hunk had managed to keep from shouting. The lack of any real response, from anyone, made Hunk feel like he was overreacting and causing a scene just for bringing up the topic. _And now I’m in the awkward position of arguing for mercy, or even fair trials, for people that probably betrayed their own planet to an evil empire. Great._

 

The rest of the evening had gone downhill from there, culminating in a discussion about the abandoned Galra installations on the continent, and the need for further investigation. The buildings would need to be swept for traps and weapons systems, and the computers checked for intel. Any space-worthy aircraft left in the hangars would need to be documented and added to their arsenal. It wasn’t work the Arziin could do on their own. Hunk felt his eye start to twitch, knowing what was coming even before Shiro issued the orders. They were stuck on the planet for another day at the minimum, possibly longer. Hunk finished his third drink and took his fourth and fifth to go.

 

He’d barely reached the exit when Pidge and Lance appeared out of nowhere and claimed his drinks, plucking the glasses from his hands with such audacity that Hunk just let it happen. Pidge downed hers like a shot and winced with regret, wiping her mouth with her hand.

 

“No one goes anywhere alone at night,” she stated, tucking herself under Hunk’s arm and marching through the door. “They’ve given us accommodations in the east wing of the commander’s palace. I made a case for sleeping in the lions, or in orbit on the ship, but apparently we’re being polite and staying where we’ve been put.” Pidge didn’t sound any happier than Hunk felt. She led the way through the looping corridor unerringly, snagging Lance’s hand when it looked like he might wander off.

 

“Okay, I get it, we’re staying together. Jeez, Pidge, loosen up on that death grip of yours.” Lance made a half-hearted attempt to pry himself free but gave up when he met resistance. He trudged after them, sipping on the liqueur experimentally.

 

Pidge stopped in front of a door at the end of the hallway, and typed an access code into the lock. “I re-wrote the security programming for our rooms. The three of us are staying in this one.” The door swung open and Pidge bodily hauled them all inside, as though she’d expected Lance and Hunk to resist her plan.

 

“We’re not drunk, Pidge. We’ll walk where you ask us to go.” Hunk closed the door behind them and heard the locks click into place. Away from the crowd and alone with his friends, he was already starting to feel better. The room, like the Arziin, was slightly larger than human scale. Windows lined the north and east walls, and rich tapestries covered the rest. A bed, draped with curtains, took up a third of the available space. The stone floor was covered with a variety of rugs, many of which seemed to be animal pelts.

 

Pidge rolled her eyes at him and shrugged. “I knew Lance was prone to wandering off and getting into trouble, but I didn’t expect it from you.”

 

Lance made an indignant squawk. “That’s rude, Pidge. Hunk is the one who got himself enslaved at the food court in the space mall.”

 

“True, but I’ve never been tied to a tree while trying to impress a girl, so…”

 

“So, both of you stay put, for once.” Pidge took off her glasses and cleaned them on a curtain. “I picked this room because there aren’t any sightlines from nearby rooftops. I found all the cameras and swapped their footage with that of an empty room on the first floor. I distorted the audio enough that we can’t be heard, and overlaid it with noise from the dining hall. I set motion alarms at the door and windows.”

 

“And?” Hunk prompted.

 

“And now I’m going to bed. It’s been a long fucking day.” Pidge rubbed her eyes and yawned. She crossed the room and started to remove her armor, stacking it on a nearby chair. Hunk followed her lead, stripping down to his boxers and undershirt with a lack of self-consciousness that only came with living in the extremely close quarters of the military garrison. Lance found the en-suite bathroom and started to snoop around. Hunk could hear pipes rattling and water splashing.

 

“Are you this paranoid everywhere we go, and we just haven’t noticed?” Hunk climbed into the bed. It was just slightly too high to be an easy step up. Pidge took a running leap to clamber up after him.

 

“It’s not paranoid to be prepared. But no, I just get weird vibes from these guys. We’re not off to a great start. I wish we could meet with the ones who first contacted us, or find out what happened to them. Did we even get their names? Allura must know…” Pidge claimed a pillow and shook it out. “And, the pheromone thing is creepy. Even if they don’t do it on purpose.”

 

“It’s a bit unsettling,” Hunk agreed, “especially when their political beliefs are so nauseating. Might have to get used to it though; we’re probably not getting off this planet for a while yet. Keith said he’d keep an eye out for the Arziin who first got in touch. He also said the unfortunates hanging from the gallows were traitors who worked for the Galra, although I’m not sure who actually gets labelled a traitor, and why.”

 

“Not very sympathetic, is he?” Pidge asked, her question more of a statement.

 

“Am I crazy for wanting to be merciful, at least until we have more information? I mean, Shay’s brother betrayed us to the Galra, and we didn’t kill him for it. Neither did any of the other Balmerans,” Hunk pointed out.

 

“Is that an accurate comparison, though?” Pidge waved the thought away. “Anyway, I hope we’re gone in a day or two. Unless the Galra left something interesting, it’s going to be a huge waste of time. If the Arziin would play nicely with the Marmora, we could leave now. The Blades could check for traps and grab any useful intel, and then turn the buildings over to the new government.”

 

“The Marmora are already cleaning up for the politicians. Maybe that’s taking all of their time? The Arziin hate them for being Galra, but they’re doing most of the dirty work here, rounding up prisoners and handing them over.”

 

“The Marmora cleared out this planet’s government once before. The Arziin can’t be happy to see them back.” Pidge paused, thoughtful. “Even so, there’s no real reason for Voltron to stay here any longer. We wouldn’t be staying just for the Arziin, so Kolivan must have asked.” She shook her head. “It’s just hard to plan when we don’t have access to all the variables.” Pidge nestled down into the blankets, pulling them up to her chin. “You’ll have to sleep in the middle. I’ll get too warm, and Lance will flail until we both get kicked off the bed.”

 

“So, you don’t care if Lance kicks me?” Hunk asked, settling under the blankets.

 

“Not really.” Pidge set her glasses aside carefully.

 

Lance reappeared from whatever elaborate skincare regime he’d been conducting and hopped onto the bed beside Hunk. He flopped onto his pillow, tucking his arms behind his head and sighing wistfully.

 

“What?” Hunk asked.

 

Lance rolled onto his side to face Hunk. “I’m spending the night on a planet filled with beautiful aliens, and I’m stuck sharing a bed with you two. This is not my finest hour.”

 

Pidge piped up from Hunk’s other side. “No one cares, Lance.”

 

“Yeah, and the Arziin are hot, but they’re sneaky bastards. They hit hard. They’re a lot stronger than they look.” Hunk rubbed the bruise on his chest, wincing at the memory.

 

Lance leered at him.

 

“If you say, that makes it better, I will smother you with a pillow,” Hunk warned.

 

“And I will deliver a beautiful eulogy at your funeral. People will cry.” Pidge leaned over Hunk with absolutely no regard for personal space or how sharp her elbows were to glare down at Lance.

 

“Well, I hope you losers like to snuggle, ‘cause honestly-” Lance flinched as Pidge smacked him ruthlessly with a pillow.

 

“Because you honestly like snuggling more than either of us, is that what you’re saying?” Pidge continued her attack until Hunk grabbed her pillow away from her and rolled it under his body.

 

“Okay, it’s great that this planet has made both of you much more insane than you normally are, but, as the buffer zone of this bed, I feel the need to object before I become collateral damage.” Hunk yelped as Pidge stole his pillow out from under his head.

 

“I suppose that’s only fair,” she agreed. “I mean, I only switched the feeds on the cameras, so they think we’re in a different room… having a pillow fight…” Pidge’s grin bordered on maniacal for a moment, but then she seemed to get herself back under control. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, assembling her face into the expression of calm competence that she normally used when negotiating with diplomats.

_That’s it Pidge, control the crazy,_ Hunk thought affectionately, knowing if he said it out loud he’d be pummeled to death with every available cushion. Pidge turned away to flick off the lamps. The room fell into darkness, with only a few glimmers of moonlight through the windows.

 

Tucked between his best friends, sleep claimed Hunk almost immediately. The gallows loomed in his dreams, and every swinging corpse was dressed in paladin armor.

 

*

 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Hunk growled, rummaging through the gearbox in search of anything that would unclasp the power cords from their couplings. It was his second day on the planet Arziin, and he’d more than had enough of it. The team had divided the work amongst themselves, heading into different structures to search for anything useful. There wasn’t much left; the retreating Galra had destroyed most of the tech interfaces. Hunk was reduced to cobbling together substitutes from scratch, plugging them into the mainframe, and hoping nothing exploded.

 

He’d been assigned a team of Arziin to help him, and Kolivan spared one Marmora agent to dismantle traps and open Galra systems. It hadn’t gone well. The Arziin refused to touch any Galra-made devices and instead spent their time standing way too close to Hunk. They weren’t hostile, and he couldn’t say that they were actively trying to sabotage anything. They just got in the way and slowed down his progress. He couldn’t focus while they loomed over him; their pheromones clogged the air and left Hunk half-dizzy. They shuffled away like nervous sheep whenever the Marmora agent checked in with him, and eventually Hunk just sent them back to the city. Soon after, the agent declared the building clear and went on to the next one. Hunk never saw his face. He knew it hadn’t been Keith, and he wasn’t sure whether he felt disappointed or relieved.

 

Hunk’s bad day got worse when Shiro found him that afternoon. He knew instantly, from the slightly apologetic expression on Shiro’s face, that he wasn’t going to like whatever Shiro said next. Hunk braced himself for the bad news and waited.

 

“I need you to stay here and keep searching for useful tech. Collect any useful scrap of intel you find. Try to get the long-range weapons systems running for the Arziin so they’re not defenseless when we leave this galaxy.” Shiro lowered his voice, even though Hunk was pretty sure they were alone. “And see if you can figure out why the Galra bothered with this planet. Check the Arziin records too. I don’t want to spend any more time here than we need to, but I also don’t want to overlook something that could help us defeat Zarkon and Lotor.”

 

Hunk nodded. “Okay, how long do we have?”

 

Shiro glanced around the room they were in, where Hunk had ripped most of the wiring out of the walls and used it to patch his way into an interface screen. “You have three days. We’ve got new sightings of Lotor’s generals in the Nebulon galaxy, and we need to check it out. I need you to stay here and figure out what’s going on. If it’s nothing, great, but if it’s something…”

 

“I’ll need Pidge,” Hunk stated, running calculations in his mind. “She can finish scanning for intel while I see about the weapons systems, and then we can both search the records for historical Galra interference on this planet.”

 

Shiro shook his head. “She’s already asked to follow a lead about her brother. She left an hour ago. If she gets back soon, I’ll send her here to help.”

 

Hunk nodded, starting to feel queasy. “Lance then,” he said, but Shiro was already refusing.

 

“I need him and Allura with me. You’ll have Yellow, and there’s a dozen Marmora agents still here. I’ll have Kolivan let them know. The Arziin have offered you quarters close to this section of the Galra installations, but since you’re alone…” Shiro appeared to think it over.

 

“I’ll sleep in my lion.” Hunk finished for him.

 

“I think that would be best. Call the ship if there’s an emergency. We’ll leave a line open so we’re not out of range.” Shiro paused again, and Hunk felt his stomach flip over. Shiro frowned at him, but his words were sympathetic. “I know you’ve had a hard time here, dealing with the Arziin. Things don’t always go according to plan. War is ugly - it brings out the worst in people. That doesn’t mean we can’t still do some good here.” Shiro reached out and squeezed his shoulder, and Hunk didn’t know what to say. He nodded, a lump in his throat, and after a moment Shiro turned and headed away.

 

Hunk kept working after Shiro left, managing to get two of the consoles up and running. The day wore on and he moved to the next building, working his way systematically through interfaces that resisted his presence at every turn. The work was slow and sometimes frustrating, but it was nice to be able to think through a problem and find a solution. It would have been more enjoyable if he hadn’t been alone. At the very least, it kept his mind occupied, forcing him to stay present in the task at hand. He couldn’t think about the Arziin, or the war, or Keith. _That last one is most important._

 

At dusk, he found his assigned quarters and stayed long enough to have a shower and rummage through the cupboards. He left again before the Arziin could invite him to dinner. Yellow was resting less than a mile outside the city, at the edge of the steppes that dominated the continent. Hunk trudged out to her, carrying as much bedding and food as he could manage. Trees were few and far between, but he scrounged any deadwood he could find and brought it with him. Using the lion as a windbreak, he struggled to build a campfire.

 

Bent over his task, he didn’t see Keith until the other knelt beside him. Hunk screeched in alarm and barely stopped himself from smashing Keith in the face with the piece of kindling he held.

 

“Fuck!” Hunk yelled, startled and embarrassed. “You need to not do that.”

 

“You need to be more careful.” Keith retorted. “What if I’d been an assassin?”

 

“I’m pretty sure you _are_ an assassin, although no one’s come right out and called you that. People are a little touchy about that word, sometimes.”

 

Keith scowled. “I meant-”

 

“I knew what you meant.” Hunk gestured behind him, at Yellow. “And I’m pretty sure that if you’d come out here to kill me, she would have at least growled a warning… and then hopefully ate you.”

 

“Still, though.” Keith glanced up at Yellow with a mixture of wariness and affection.

 

Hunk understood the dual sentiments. The lions were dangerous, mysterious beings. He wasn’t sure exactly how much sentience they had, as humans understood the concept. He knew Yellow, and trusted her, but he wasn’t sure that he’d have the same faith in Red, for example. At least, not without knowing that Red was now bonded to Lance, and Hunk trusted him without question. Lacking that connection, the lions were intelligent alien warships with unknown motives and powers. An unmanned tank wouldn’t hurt you, standing beside it, but no one knew what the lions might do of their own accord. While Keith had to know that Yellow wouldn’t hurt him, he was no longer bonded with a lion, and thus without a link to Voltron. Being near the lions, but not a part of them, had to be a weird experience. Hunk wasn’t feeling sympathetic.

 

“If you hiked out here to lecture me, you can turn around right now.” Hunk cupped his hands around a small smouldering ember and whispered encouragement, trying to coax it into a flame.

 

“I’m not gonna lecture you…” Keith seemed slightly amused at the idea. “I’m more of a yeller, really.” He leaned in to help Hunk with the fire, shuffling closer to block the breeze that gusted over the steppes. They ended up side by side, pressed together, their bodies curved over the tiniest flicker of flame. “I hope this wasn’t your only plan for dinner.”

 

Hunk gave him a disgusted look. “I can manage, with or without fire.”

 

Keith appeared to have doubts. He broke up the deadwood and laid it out carefully, building a frame for the campfire. He fed the flickering flame diligently, offering bits of dried grass and small twigs until the fire was substantial enough to fight the gusts of wind. The flames crackled and sparked, the wood finally catching alight.

 

“It’s going to be hard to cook over…”

 

“It’s the embers I want.” Hunk searched his pack for supplies. Keith was still way too close to him, bringing up conflicting emotions. Hunk found a knife and set it aside. “Why are you out here anyway?” he asked, letting some of his sullen anger into his tone.

 

Keith seemed to realize he’d invaded Hunk’s space, and backed off a bit. He settled a few feet away, where he had a clear view of the surrounding area, and stretched out his legs. “Kolivan sent me. I’ve been assigned to you.” Keith did not sound all that impressed about this turn of events. It didn’t seem like he was blaming Hunk though, and Hunk tried to rein in his annoyance. _It’s not fair…_

 

“Assigned to me for what?” Hunk found the foil wrap he’d been looking for, smoothed it flat on the ground, and proceeded to slice vegetables into it.

 

“Protection, mostly. Kolivan thinks it’s a waste of an engineer if you get murdered in an alley.”

 

Hunk paused. “And not a waste of a Voltron pilot?”

 

“He seems to think we have a spare.”

 

“I’m not sure it works that way.” Hunk folded the foil and vegetables into a packet and set it carefully in the fire. He began to make a second meal for Keith, choosing simple flavours that he knew would mix well.

 

“I told him as much.”

 

“And his response?”

 

“He said I had my orders. In addition to making sure you don’t die prematurely, I can help open the Galra tech, and make sure nothing’s been rigged up as a bomb. Your assistant today only got through a third of the buildings.” Keith fidgeted with his gloves.

 

“And if there is a bomb, can you dismantle it?” Hunk asked, rummaging around in his pack until he found a few pieces of flatbread and a bit of dried meat.

 

“If there’s a bomb, I’m running the hell away.” Keith flashed a grin, so fast Hunk almost missed it.

 

“And what about me?”

 

“Try to keep up?”

 

“Very funny,” Hunk drawled. He prodded their meals deeper into the fire’s embers. “Just keep the Arziin away from me, whether they want to kill me or just stand around in my way, looking amazing and talking about how much totalitarianism increases their quality of life.”

 

Keith snorted. “Yeah, they aren’t what I expected.”

 

“Given their apparent predilection for fascism, you’d think they’d have thrived under the Empire.”

 

Keith watched him thoughtfully. “Maybe they did.”

 

Hunk glanced up, startled. “That’s a strange thing to say.”

 

Keith shrugged. “As strange as the Galra wasting their time here?”

 

“Still mad about that, huh? That it’s a waste of your time too?” Hunk realized he was trying to pick a fight and waved away Keith’s response. He decided to change the subject. “Did you ever use those plans I helped with?”

 

“That’s where I was heading, before I was diverted here to-” Keith stopped abruptly.

 

“To do something you think I don’t want to hear. Thank you for sparing me the grim details.”

 

Keith didn’t say anything in response to that. He folded his legs up, resting his hands on his knees. He watched Hunk carefully, head tilted slightly to the side as though Hunk was a puzzle he just couldn’t figure out. “You said the Arziin looked amazing. What do they look like, to you?”

 

“What do you mean? You’ve seen them. Kind of like if antelopes were both humanoid and reptilian, and somehow hotter than almost everyone I’ve ever met.”

 

Keith wrinkled his nose. “You think they look like antelopes… and find them attractive…”

 

“That’s not what I meant,” Hunk sputtered. “It’s something about the bone structure in their faces. That and their eyes are big and dark. They just give off this antelope vibe… until something pisses them off, and they go kind of snake-like. Their eyes and mouths go especially viper-ish. Why? Do you disagree that they look like antelopes?”

 

“No, but it’s probably offensive to describe alien people based on which Earth animal we think they look most like.”

 

Hunk considered this a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, I get that.”

 

“As for thinking they’re attractive, did you think this before you met them in person, when you saw them on screen?”

 

“They were always nice to look at, but in person it’s much more intense. Why? Do you think they’re hot?” Hunk said it as a challenge, mostly joking, but Keith gave his question serious consideration.

 

“When they’re just on screen I do. If they’re nearby, they’re revolting. I mean, they still look the same to me, but something’s just… off about them. Even before they start talking.”

 

“That’s interesting. How do the other Blades feel about them?”

 

“The full-blood Galra seem to have the most problem with them, from what I can tell. They wouldn’t talk about it – they seemed troubled by their reactions. A couple requested reassignment.”

 

“That’s kind of messed up…” Hunk thought it over. “Fits with my pheromones theory though. People with different physiologies respond differently to them. Whether or not they have it under conscious control, they could have evolved it as a defense.”

 

“It doesn’t work as a defense against full-blood Galra. If anything-” Keith stopped talking again, as though his own thoughts disturbed him.

 

Hunk added the topic to the list of things he didn’t want to know, and used two sticks to maneuver the food out of the fire. He passed one of the packets to Keith, who accepted it with a frown.

 

“What?” Hunk asked.

 

“You didn’t have to cook for me. I brought rations.”

 

“Would you rather have rations?”

 

“No, of course not… I just thought…”

 

“You thought I was pissed off at you.” Hunk realized. “And yeah, I still kinda am. But I’m not going to sit here and watch you eat rations when I could just cook you something. I mean, really, what do you think of me?”

 

Keith huffed a quiet laugh. He shook his head slightly, not meeting Hunk’s eyes. “Thanks, Hunk.”

 

Hunk divided up the flatbread and shared out the dried meat, and they spent the next few minutes eating in silence. Hunk tried to relax and enjoy his meal, but his brain refused to quit whirling. He couldn’t put Keith out of his mind. He barely managed it when Keith was lightyears away; with Keith across the fire from him, it was impossible. Hunk stared into his vegetables, all too aware that Keith was just a few feet away. He’d tried to pretend that hanging out with Keith was like hanging out with a slightly grumpier version of Pidge or Lance, but that comparison did a disservice to all three of them. He didn’t know Keith the way he knew his best friends, and he didn’t want his best friends the way he wanted Keith. _Oh no._

 

“Hunk? Are you okay? You’ve just been staring at your food for, I dunno, five dobashes.” Keith opened a water flask and took a sip. He offered the flask, and Hunk froze for a full ten seconds before reaching out and accepting it. He made absolutely sure he didn’t touch Keith’s hand. The liquid in the flask didn’t quite taste like water, but Hunk managed to drink a bit without having a coughing fit. He couldn’t quite bring himself to look directly at Keith, but he could feel the other watching him. He decided to go on the offensive.

 

“So, you just stared at me that whole time?” He accused, hoping that he didn’t sound as flustered as he felt. Keith was still gazing at him attentively, and Hunk felt like he was pinned under a microscope.

 

“Kolivan sent me to watch you. It’s my job.” Keith shrugged. “I was starting to think you had a seizure.” He sounded completely unconcerned, and Hunk thought he heard a tinge of amusement.

 

“Yeah, but I don’t think Kolivan meant the watching part literally. How will you see enemies sneaking up, if you’re just, I dunno, gawking at me?” Hunk had a feeling his offensive was backfiring on him.

 

Keith smiled, climbing to his feet. “I won’t let anyone hurt you, Hunk. Thanks for dinner.”

 

There really wasn’t much Hunk could say to that. He felt himself blush and hoped fervently, between the setting suns and his skin tone, that Keith wouldn’t notice. Although, Keith had probably memorized his face given the amount of time he _had_ been staring.

 

“No worries,” he blurted, feeling ridiculous.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, this fic might be a little bit out of control, haha. This chapter just refused to do what I wanted it to do, but we’re going to get back to the Hunk and Keith show next chapter. These idiots might even get romantic. Anyway, I would be really interested to know how you feel about Keith – namely, what do you think Keith feels towards Hunk, given his past actions in chapters 1 to 4 especially. I’m damehel on tumblr if you’d rather send an ask than a comment, but either way feedback/concrit is appreciated.


	6. Hunk has the worst day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left kudos or comments – your feedback makes me happy! Especially the commenters, thank you so much, your continued support has been amazing and your comments always inspire me to write more. Sorry this is a month late! I rewrote it multiple times trying to make it more coherent, cut about 2k words, and it’s still pretty choppy… 
> 
> This chapter rated M for swearing, extreme violations of personal space, mental manipulation, poisoning (kind of), and violence (assault, fighting, killing). The named alien had a variety of pronouns but I eventually settled on a singular they, and hopefully I used that consistently. All characters depicted are 18+.

 

 

Six

 

Hunk watched a second moon rise over the horizon with a bemused appreciation for how it messed with everything he knew about physics. He’d spent his evening camped out beside Yellow, organizing his gear. He’d risked changing out of his armor for a moment, in order to check the fittings and clean it up a bit. The breeze off the steppes had died down to an occasional puff of cool air, and the night was warm. The sky was mostly clear, dark enough now for the first stars to shine faintly, but with clouds massing in the south. Hunk saw occasional flickers of lightning in their bulk. He started packing up his supplies.

 

Keith had left shortly after dinner, marching off in the direction of the city, armed to the teeth. Hunk had watched him leave with mixed feelings. Keith was good enough company when he wanted to be, or if he’d decided, for whatever reason, to make an effort. He hadn’t always been this way. Hunk remembered the early days of Voltron, when Keith would disappear for hours on end, showing up just for training and maybe for meals. It had driven Hunk crazy - only five humans around for lightyears, and one of them didn’t want to be friends, didn’t even seem to like any of them except Shiro. Some days, it seemed like Keith hadn’t changed at all. _That’s unfair_ , Hunk protested his own thoughts. _That’s absolutely unfair. And Keith came around eventually. He didn’t hate us, he just wasn’t great at dealing with people. At all. It didn’t occur to him that we’d want his company._

 

Hunk frowned at the storm clouds that were just a bit closer. _Maybe that’s the issue. Maybe we didn’t make it blatantly obvious that we wanted him to stay._ That idea was slightly more uncomfortable, and Hunk picked up his tablet, checking the weather readings to distract himself. Keith hadn’t mentioned where he was going or why, but Hunk figured he was probably out setting up motion sensors or tripwires. _As long as it’s just that, and not landmines or caltrops or anything else that’s really gonna maim someone._

 

Being alone with his thoughts made him fidgety, so Hunk flicked through his tablet and got back to work. He hadn’t had time to make elaborate notes earlier in the day, but he could remember everything he’d done. He sorted through his copies of the Galra systems schematics, highlighting issues and making plans for tomorrow’s approach. He’d set up a server to collect whatever information he could manage to send its way. A lot of those processes could run while he did more important things. Like, tracking down and assessing the planetary weapons defense system, provided such a thing still existed.

 

The extra work failed to distract him. His mind drifted, unbidden, back to Keith. Hunk sighed and shook his head, glancing at the lines of data that streamed over the tablet screen but not really seeing them. The fifth time he mis-typed an equation, he set the datapad aside and gave himself permission to think about Keith. The rush of conflicting emotions was immediate, but Hunk was almost used to that now. He picked through his feelings and tried to examine them objectively, one at a time. First of all, he wanted Keith. That, at least, was a fact. He didn’t have to like it, but he couldn’t deny it. He didn’t even have to like Keith to see that he was attractive, all long legs and strong shoulders and dark, expressive eyes. _And I do like Keith, right? When he’s not pissing me off… And what does it matter, whether I want him, or like him, or whatever. It doesn’t matter what I feel. Keith’s gone - he made his choices very clear to all of us…_

 

“Are you well, Paladin?”

 

The voice, smooth and lilting, startled him more than he liked to admit. Hunk lurched to his feet and whirled to face the intruder, hoping he’d managed to keep his surprise off his face. He glanced around discreetly, but the Arziin appeared to be alone. He couldn’t be sure which direction they had approached from; there was no trace of their passage towards him. Hunk flicked a quick look at Yellow, to see if she sensed any danger, but the lion gave no sign. The Arziin followed his gaze to the lion, then studied Hunk with its soft dark eyes. Hunk found his voice and made a remarkable effort to be polite.

 

“Yes, thank you. Just distracted, apparently. What are you doing out here?” Hunk wasn’t sure if one solitary Arziin, ostensibly unarmed, was a threat to him. The guards he’d met had been much stronger than they’d looked, but even the more muscular individuals had a certain vulnerability about them. As a group, they seemed fragile, their beauty something delicate to be crushed. As a species, their looks screamed prey. Nothing about this Arziin looked threatening, but the incident at the gallows was seared into Hunk’s memory. He reminded himself not to be complacent.

 

“My name is Delle, from the Science Division.” The Arziin’s tone implied that Hunk had been rude for not asking that first, but that they were forgiving him. Delle gestured magnanimously with one of their four arms, each limb poised. “I will be working with you, on the Galra systems.” _Galra_ was pronounced with obvious revulsion, as though even the word was distasteful to say. “You weren’t in your assigned quarters, but there’d been reports that you’d headed out onto the plains. I came out to find you, to see if you had instructions about preparations for our work tomorrow.”

 

_Yeah, I’ll bet there were reports of my whereabouts._ Hunk resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I didn’t see you with the team sent out today. They didn’t want anything to do with the Galra tech, so I let them go back to the city.”

 

Delle nodded briskly. “I have no such qualms. We need to protect our home, and reusing established set-ups is the most efficient way. We can build our own systems later.”

 

“That makes sense.”

 

“I’m glad you agree.” Delle’s face lit up with delight. Hunk couldn’t tell whether he found the reaction charming or a bit too much. He was willing to admit that it made an already attractive being much more interesting to look at, though. Delle stood about as tall as him, but with a much lighter build. He couldn’t determine the texture of their skin just by looking, whether it was fur or scales or something more human-like. Their stripes were a beautiful shade of seafoam green on a violet base. Delle noticed him looking, and held out an arm.

 

“Do you want to touch?”

 

“Um, what?” Hunk sputtered, but the alien remained placidly unconcerned. He ignored his first reaction, which was to admit that he did want to touch, very much so, and reminded himself not to be a complete idiot. He couldn’t read the expressions in the alien’s face. The question seemed innocent enough, but Hunk didn’t know enough about this alien culture to be able to judge. Before he could craft a coherent sentence, Delle stepped closer.

 

“I didn’t mean any offense. You are as new to us as we are to you.” Delle offered an arm again, as though it was all in the spirit of scientific enquiry. “We are interested in other people, and how they react to us, whether they like us or hate us or fear us. The Galra destroyed much, but even then we studied them.” There was a tinge of zeal to their voice. Hunk had heard a similar tone when professors visiting the Garrison talked about their personal research projects. The enthusiasm made Delle so beautiful it almost hurt to look at them, and Hunk, remembering the pheromones, took a step back.

 

“So the… the ways your presence affects others… you study that? Do you know what causes the different reactions?” Hunk managed to form the question, barely. He struggled to get his thoughts together. He backed up further, trying to get some more space without seeming offended, and bumped into the side of Yellow’s leg. Delle followed his retreat, gracefully covering the distance between them. They moved swiftly, and Hunk got an impression of controlled strength, as though Delle had deliberately slowed their movement. Hunk’s brain helpfully supplied an image of a lioness stalking prey across the Serengeti. _Well, that’s troubling._

 

“Yes, it’s always been an interest of our people. Once, the Arziin were just one of many groups on this planet, but over time we conquered all others. By the time the Galra appeared, only the Arziin remained.” Delle made a quick gesture with their hands, which Hunk read as a shrug. “How others react shows us which strategies we need to use to defeat them. While you and your comrades are not enemies, studying your reactions is still of interest to us.” Delle closed the remaining distance between them, leaning their upper set of arms on Yellow, trapping Hunk between the lion and their body.

 

“Okay, you are very much in my personal space, so…” Hunk couldn’t decide what to do. He squirmed uncomfortably, unable to bring himself to look directly at Delle. The fact that he hadn’t already shoved the alien away worried him. He turned his face to the side, trying to regain some composure and fend off the sense of claustrophobia. He knew the situation was inappropriate, but he couldn’t make himself push Delle away. He stood there, annoyed but passive, because maybe that was what Delle wanted. _And that_ is _the pheromones. You’re being manipulated._

 

“Reactions to us must be observed at different distances,” Delle explained helpfully. They rested more of their body against Hunk, heedless of his discomfort, pushing flush against him.

 

“Okay, that is… that is…” Hunk took a shaky breath, overwhelmed by the sheer presence of the alien. Delle was both heavier and cooler in temperature than expected, carrying a surprising amount of muscle tone on their lithe frame. He could feel them through his clothing, feel each breath they took, slow and deep. A small part of Hunk’s brain screeched that this was the apex predator on this planet, but it was becoming more and more difficult to worry about that. He wasn’t even sure if he was really annoyed about this anymore. _Wait…_

 

“I didn’t agree to participate in your science experiment here, so you need to… You need to step away from me now.” Hunk ground the words out. He felt guilty for protesting this treatment at all, as though he was inconveniencing Delle terribly by not cooperating.

 

“That doesn’t matter.” Delle dismissed his concerns and gripped Hunk’s face in a long-fingered hand. The Arziin didn’t have claws, but their nails felt sharp against Hunk’s skin. He didn’t have to be told that this was a threat, that it would be all too easy to gouge out his eyes. “Would you consider your reaction typical for your species?” Delle dipped their head closer, and licked Hunk’s throat.

 

Hunk jerked away from the stinging touch, afraid he’d feel teeth next, and hit the back of his head against Yellow. The jolt distracted him. He caught himself about to answer Delle, and ignored the question with all his remaining willpower. “Get off me.”

 

Delle watched him thoughtfully, as though he were an animal that had just performed an amusing trick. “You continue to verbally protest but haven’t made any attempt to free yourself. Will you try now? I’ll wait.”

 

“I said, back off,” Hunk growled. His hands clenched into fists, but he couldn’t raise them. He didn’t want to hurt Delle, not when they were so gentle, so lovely. _And those are some weird thoughts._ Hunk shook his head, struggling to breathe.

 

“An interesting response. Thank you, Paladin, but we don’t require further tests. In fact-”

 

Hunk saw the knife glitter out of the corner of his eye as Delle raised it. He forced himself to lunge out of the way, even though what he really wanted was to stand there and let Delle cut him open. _What?_ He ducked under their arms and scrambled to put some distance between them, too messed up by the pheromones to even feel sickened by his reaction. _What the utter fucking fuck?_

 

Hunk stumbled towards the campfire, casting around for a weapon. His bayard was with Yellow, who sat unmoving. He wondered for a long moment if he could just call the weapon to him, if he was close enough for that, but neither bayard nor lion responded. _Did the pheromones mess up our bond too? Does she not read me as being in danger?_ Lacking a better option, he grabbed a piece of firewood and turned in time to see Delle leap at him, closing the distance between them in one bound. He swung hard and felt the firewood connect with a sickening thud, before the momentum bowled them both over.

 

Delle recovered fast, back on their feet with a snarl before Hunk could stand. He threw the firewood directly at their face and braced for the next clash, resigning himself to hand-to-hand combat. _And that’s entirely unfair, seeing as they have twice as many hands._ Delle lunged at him again, and this time Hunk stepped closer, getting inside their range and narrowly avoiding the knife. He grabbed their arm and locked it against his own, applying pressure until he felt the bones twist and break in his grip. Bile rose in his throat. Delle shrieked in pain, clawing deep scratches into Hunk’s side in an effort to get free. They dropped the knife and followed it down, forcing Hunk to let go or get dragged down too. Hunk scrambled for the knife and missed, then staggered back a step and got tripped for his trouble. He landed hard on his back, biting his tongue and tasting blood.

 

“There’s more fight in you than expected.” Delle’s expression was hard to read, but Hunk thought they were amused that he’d put up any resistance at all. The alien tucked their wounded arm close against their body. They’d managed to retrieve the knife and held it out in front of them. The posture did not look at all defensive. _How did the Galra conquer these people?_

 

“I’ll break all your arms if you make me,” Hunk threatened, not feeling particularly menacing. He climbed unsteadily back to his feet. “But I really don’t want to. I really, really, don’t.” He felt sick even thinking about it.

 

“No one cares what the dead want, Paladin,” Delle hissed. Blood streamed from a cut above their eye. They wiped it away and flicked it at Hunk.

 

“It’s not too late to stop this. I don’t want to hurt you.” _Please don’t make me hurt you again. Please don’t._

 

“Of course, you don’t,” Delle grinned at him. “And you won’t, will you?”

 

This time, the effect of the pheromones felt stronger. Hunk shook his head to clear it, wiping at the blood on his skin but only managing to smudge it further. Even with the distance between them, he felt his thoughts go foggy, overriding any urge to defend himself. He dropped to his knees, fought his way back to his feet for a moment, and fell again. He stared helplessly up at Delle, a useless passenger in his own body, baring his throat for the knife. _Oh, fuck._

 

Delle loomed closer, alluring and dangerous, beautiful the way only something completely lethal could be. The knife’s edge gleamed in the moonlight. They reached out and took a fistful of Hunk’s hair, tilting his head back further. Hunk let them. He couldn’t think well enough to resist, and couldn’t figure out why he should. The knife flashed down, and-

 

Keith tackled the Arziin with his full weight behind the effort, and only just barely managed to stagger them. A swift, vicious fight followed, which Hunk watched in a daze. He felt like he was a thousand miles away, scarcely able to pay attention. He thought he should get up and help Keith, he needed to get up and help Keith, but he wasn’t quite sure why, and by the time he chased that thought down, he’d forgotten what he’d been supposed to do. The fight moved behind him, he could hear the scuffle, the scrape of metal over armor, a sick wet crunch as a knife hit bone. Another. Something heavy hit the ground. Hunk couldn’t breathe.

 

A moment later there were hands on either side of his face, tilting his head, and he could not stand it. He clawed the hands away, flailing blindly without even looking at his attacker.

 

“Hunk-”

 

“Get the fuck away from me.” Freed from the mental trap, Hunk threw himself backwards, away from the figure in front of him. He shoved himself to his feet, staggered three steps in the darkness and tripped over a body. He landed half on top of it, warm blood soaking through his clothes. Broken bones ground together when he jostled them, and Hunk lost the battle against his stomach, leaned to the side, and puked on the grass.

 

“Hunk-”

 

The voice was quieter this time, and he knew it was Keith. He should have known it was Keith the first time, and that realization didn’t make him any happier. Hunk wiped his mouth and tried to stand up again. Keith approached warily, and Hunk stared at him in confusion for a long minute before he realized Keith was trying very hard not to freak him out further. He took Hunk’s hands and pulled him to his feet with surprising gentleness. The world veered sideways for a moment, but then Keith was at his elbow, propping him up.

 

“Did you kill them?” Hunk slurred stupidly at Keith, already knowing the answer. “Did you just kill a person? That’s fucking messed up.”

 

Keith ignored him, or at least Hunk thought he did. His grasp on reality continued to slip away from him. Hunk opened his eyes and realized he was standing in front of Yellow, the lion bending her head low. Keith was talking to him, something about how Hunk needed to fly them out of here, and that they needed to leave now, before more Arziin appeared. Hunk didn’t know how long Keith had been talking. He had no memory of walking up to Yellow at all. That realization was utterly terrifying, but Hunk tried to rally his thoughts.

 

“What’s wrong with me?” He whispered at Keith, as though Keith would know.

 

Keith paused mid-sentence and focused on Hunk. “There you are, finally. I think you got a dose of venom, and you’re definitely reacting badly to the Arziin pheromones. We need to get you away from here. You’ll need to fly Yellow. She’s awake again now.”

 

“I couldn’t move,” Hunk blurted. “I was going to let them kill me. Yellow didn’t know.”

 

Keith didn’t seem to know what to say to that. “We can talk about that later. Don’t worry about that now. You’re safe, but we need to get going. We’ve been standing here for ten dobashes already. I have all your gear packed. I need you to fly the lion. If you can’t, I need to call the Marmora. Can you fly?”

 

Hunk nodded. It was all he could do.

 

*

 

The water swirling down the drain had lost its pink tinge, and Hunk figured that meant he’d managed to scrub himself clean. He leaned both hands against the wall and hung his head under the full stream of the shower, until the water blocked out all sound. There wasn’t any water scarcity on this planet, the recycling system maximized efficiency, and Hunk didn’t feel bad about staying longer than necessary in the shower. The water was still piping hot, and none of the Marmora had yelled at him yet, so Hunk figured he was okay to stay in a while longer.

 

He hadn’t actually seen any Marmora since they’d arrived here, not counting Keith. The Marmora had repurposed a Galra installation as their base of operations, far enough away from the Arziin city that any interference would be caught early, and crushed. He didn’t remember much of the flight here, too sick to do anything other than listen to Keith’s directions and hope that Yellow could interpret them through his feverish mind. Their arrival was patchy too. He hadn’t actually crashed the lion, but it had been pretty close. He remembered stumbling behind Keith into a Galra-designed building, and sitting on the floor in the medical bay while Keith searched every cupboard for something that might help him. An injection in his neck, and then suddenly he’d ended up here, in a washroom of sorts, and Keith was saying something about getting the Arziin blood off his skin before he went into shock.

 

Despite this, his mind was beginning to clear. The gaps were fewer and further apart, and whatever medication Keith had dug up in the supply rooms at least hadn’t made things worse. He had a few bruises from the scuffle with Delle, and his side was quite tender where they’d scratched him. _And other than my completely scrambled mental state, I’d say I’m alright now, for the most part, at least until the shock sets in. Fuck. Keith killed them to save me._ The realization was uncomfortable, and Hunk shoved it aside.

 

He shut off the water and toweled himself dry. The showers were each inside individual stalls - strange for a military installation but useful for preventing cross-contamination of wounds. They attached to a washroom combined with a ready room, with lockers for gear. Unable to find his clothes or remember what he’d done with them, Hunk tied a towel around his waist and left the shower stall.

 

He found Keith seated on one of the benches that lined the room, looking nonchalant for someone who’d just won a hand-to-hand fight to the death. He was freshly showered, and half-dressed in his Marmora armor and boots. Nude from the waist up, he stitched closed a wound on his upper arm with a needle and surgical thread. Bruises littered his chest, back, and sides, a few so deep and painful looking that Hunk winced in sympathy.

 

“Didn’t drown? I was going to check on you again in a minute.” Keith didn’t look up from his task. He seemed angry about something, frowning over his work, but that wasn’t anything new.

 

“No,” Hunk said flatly, instantly irritated. _He just fucking killed someone, and he doesn’t even care._ “Have you seen my clothes?”

 

Keith gestured towards a pile of dark cloth beside him. Hunk’s orange headband lay coiled on top. “You’ll need to wear these for now. You might be able to salvage yours once you’re back on the castle-ship, but I doubt it.”

 

Hunk walked over and picked up the clothes. They were similar to the under-armor he’d seen Keith wear, some sort of soft Galra-made fabric, in shades of black and grey. “Thanks,” he muttered, then realized how ungrateful he sounded. “You want a hand with that?” He asked, nodding at Keith’s arm.

 

“No, I’m almost done,” Keith glanced at Hunk, surprised by the offer. “What about your side? You’ve got some scratches.”

 

“It’s shallow. Nothing that needs stitches.”

 

Keith shoved a box of supplies down the bench towards Hunk. “There should be some antiseptic bandages in there, to put on them anyway. Let me know if you need any help. Are you feeling okay?”

 

Hunk considered the question. “My brain’s mine again, I think. I’m aware that I’m standing here talking to you. I’m still missing a few memories, but there’s no new gaps. I’m not just waking up in situations - that was pretty messed up. And I’m… I’m not gonna let Delle hurt me. I mean, they’re dead, but I’m not having those kinds of thoughts.”

 

Keith frowned at that. “Let me know if any of that starts happening again. There aren’t any healing pods here, but it seemed like the antidote worked. The Arziin are venomous, apparently, and their blood’s poisonous. The Galra that lived here developed antidotes for both. I brought them from the med-bay; they’re in the kit if you need them. There’s no way to counteract the pheromones though. Staying away from the Arziin is probably your best bet.”

 

“Oh, I plan to,” Hunk murmured. After a moment of internal debate, he decided he didn’t want to get changed in front of Keith, and stepped into the nearest shower stall to dress. The clothing fit well for the most part, given that it was designed for aliens. His bruises only twinged a bit when he lifted his arms to put on the shirt, but the scratches stung intensely when he accidently brushed them.

 

By the time he’d finished dressing, he’d remembered that Keith had stripped him in the shower earlier, climbing into the spray of water with him to keep him on his feet. Hunk had been too delirious to undress himself, wearing clothing soaked in poisonous blood. _Well that’s just great. Hopefully I didn’t say anything stupid._ A memory surfaced, Keith bracing him by the shoulders, keeping him under the shower. Another: Keith cutting off his shirt with a knife when he couldn’t get him to lift his arms and take it off. _I probably did say something stupid… Like offer to help take off his clothes. Or reprimand him for killing on my behalf…_

 

When Hunk returned, Keith had finished stitching his arm, and was wiping the wound with antiseptic. Task complete, he opened a jar a salve that smelt strongly of cloves. He smeared it over the bruises that he could reach. Hunk stepped over to help with the rest without thinking.

 

“Here,” he said, holding out his hand for the jar of ointment. “I’ll get them for you.”

 

Keith stared at Hunk for a moment, his expression wary, then nodded. “Okay.”

 

Hunk realized his mistake the second he touched Keith. He pressed salve into a bruise with his thumb, and felt Keith shiver and wince under his hands. _Oh no._ He took a deep breath and resisted the urge to turn and run, overwhelmed by a mess of emotions. He hadn’t understood just how badly he’d wanted Keith until that moment, how intensely he’d wanted to touch him. _Okay, don’t make this weird._ Hunk applied the rest of the ointment briskly, keeping in contact only long enough to make sure each bruise was tended. He hadn’t realized how close the fight had been; without the armor, any one of the bruises lining Keith’s spine could have crippled him. _Fuck._ _And then he’d be dead, and I’d be dead._ Hunk took another step back and set the jar aside, a wave of dizziness passing over him.

 

“Something wrong?” Keith turned around to look at him.

 

“I’m just… I think I’m having another weird reaction,” Hunk blurted, and it really didn’t seem like too much of a lie. He definitely felt odd. “Sorry. I’m gonna sit down for a second.”

 

“Are you okay?” Keith stood, his movements stiff and almost awkward compared to his usual languorous grace. He moved like he was in pain and trying to hide it. It hurt Hunk to watch him.

 

“Yeah, just hang on a tick.” Hunk shook his head. “Sorry.”

 

“Stop saying sorry,” Keith said, blunt as ever.

 

“Stop killing people,” Hunk blurted before he could stop himself. _What am I doing?_

 

Keith flinched, and Hunk wished he hadn’t spoken. He definitely hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Keith was getting better at managing his temper, though. A muscle near his jaw twitched, but he didn’t take a swing at Hunk, or storm out of the room, or even yell. Instead, he gripped the back of his neck, for a second looking as distressed as Hunk felt.

 

“That Arziin was going to kill you.” The words were ground out. “They weren’t going to stop until they completed their mission. If I’d let them live, I’d only have to deal with them again later, when they tried again. My orders are to eliminate hostiles, and I will continue to do so.” Keith’s eyes glittered with fury.

 

“Thought you just rounded up traitors and handed them over for execution?” Hunk didn’t know why he was so determined to pick this fight all of a sudden. The room was getting a little blurry at the edges of his vision.

 

“That was before Voltron left you here alone.”

 

“Shiro’s orders, or Kolivan’s?” Hunk demanded, knowing it was a pointless question as he asked it. Of course, Kolivan’s orders. Shiro didn’t give Keith orders anymore; he wouldn’t have to. Shiro would only have to imply what he wanted, and Keith would take care of it. Hunk felt an irrational jealousy, despite the fact that orders or no, everyone involved was working to protect him. 

 

“Does it matter?” Keith snarled back. He took a step closer and paused, watching Hunk carefully. His anger faded as swiftly as it had appeared. “You’re still sick.” He turned and rummaged through the first aid kit, loading the injector with a small blue vial. “You probably sweated out the first round of antidotes in the shower.”

 

Hunk’s brain hadn’t quite kept up with this turn of events. He let Keith tug him over to the bench, sitting when prompted. Keith offered him the injector.

 

“Do you want to do it, or should I?” He asked.

 

“Do what?” Hunk slurred. He felt a gentle touch at his throat, prompting him to lift his chin. A clawing, screaming part of his brain insisted for a moment that he was in danger, that it was Delle’s hands on his face, and Hunk grabbed Keith’s wrist before he could stop himself.

 

“Hunk?” Keith was standing in front of him, waiting for Hunk to release him. “You’re adding to my bruises.”

 

Hunk peered blearily up at Keith, puzzled at how someone could look that good and yet be so irritating. He managed to focus a second later, releasing Keith’s arm abruptly and hoping that he hadn’t hurt him. He remembered Keith’s earlier order and resisted apologising.

 

“Okay. I’m okay.” He felt Keith’s hands again, fingertips pressed softly against his jaw. Hunk closed his eyes and bared his throat for the injection.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you believe earlier drafts of this actually had more swearing, haha? Please leave a comment if you have time – I like feedback, con-crit, grammar fixing, fic recs, whatever.


	7. Hunk's bad day continues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left kudos or comments – your feedback makes me happy! It’s always great to hear your thoughts on this fic, and it’s helpful to me to know when I should clarify things. Sorry this is so late (again) – I moved across the country and my life is in disarray, much like this chapter. Rated M for swearing, horror imagery, implied violence, and general weirdness. All characters depicted are 18+.

 

 

Seven

 

Either he really felt better this time, or Keith had doubled the injection’s dose and added some painkillers into the mix. Hunk stumbled down a long hallway behind him, still slightly sore and unhappy, but at least fully present in his own mind and body. Every so often, Keith turned and flicked a glance towards him, making sure he hadn’t fallen behind. The building was Galra-made; each doorway equipped with a bio-lock that only those with Galra blood could activate. Keith could open the doors with a touch of his palm and a pass-code. Hunk would have to program a workaround if he wanted to navigate this place by himself. At the moment, that seemed like way too much effort. He plodded after Keith.

 

Hunk didn’t know what time it was, but he knew he needed to rest before he started the next day’s work. Right now, he was fueled solely by irritation. He had a vague hope that the night was still young, and he could get at least a few hours of sleep. That thought was quickly followed with a frisson of terror as he considered how the day’s events would weave themselves into his nightmares. He knew he’d have to relive it, over and over: violence and fear and senseless death. His chest ached, and he clenched his hands into fists. He felt the first tendrils of panic lacing into him and crushed them down ruthlessly.

 

A few more turns down different corridors, and Hunk stopped bothering to keep track of where they were headed. The building reminded him of the streets of the Arziin city, spiraling around on each other. He had a vague fear that they’d turn a corner and find a gallows, and who knew what would be hanging there this time. Hunk shut down that thought as quickly as it appeared. There was no need to make himself crazy, not when this planet seemed so willing to do it for him. A minute later, Keith paused beside a large set of doors. Their packs were jumbled together on the floor, sprawled across the hallway. They looked like they’d been dropped at a run.

 

“I left them here on our way past,” Keith explained. “I didn’t want to leave our gear in Yellow in case you got worse, and I couldn’t get back into the lion.”

 

“Makes sense,” Hunk muttered, unable to remember even being in this corridor. A bloodied handprint stretched across one of his packs, and a smear trailed over the other. He stared at them for a long moment before picking them up, unable to decide who the blood belonged to. Keith must’ve seen him falter, turning inward, because after a moment a hand steadied his elbow, guiding him through the doors and then down another hallway. They ended up in a set of living quarters, Galra-sized, with four sets of bunks lining either wall. Keith waved up the lights a bit, and stepped around Hunk to set their packs down by the beds farthest from the door.

 

“There’s a lot of living space around here, way more than the Marmora need. You won’t be disturbed. The patrols use the sleeping quarters closer to the main gate.”

 

“You’re not staying?” Hunk asked, too abruptly. It sounded like an accusation.

 

Keith narrowed his eyes. “I have some stuff to take care of. I’ll be back in a varga or so. You should try to get some rest.”

 

“You need rest too-” Hunk protested, hating the idea of being left alone.

 

“I need to report first. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Keith touched Hunk’s shoulder lightly, then turned on his heel and left.

 

Hunk settled himself on the nearest bed, resisting the urge to watch the door. He contemplated calling the castleship, knowing that Shiro had left a line open, but unsure of how he’d explain himself. Shiro and Allura would want a report, and then Pidge and Lance would want a report, and no one would be happy with how things had happened. It would be better if Keith explained, he decided. He didn’t think he could describe the fight or Delle’s death without getting upset. It was better to focus on what he could do, things that he could fix, like engineering problems. He dug a datapad out of his pack and called up a map of the continent.

 

Hunk didn’t remember falling asleep but he must’ve, finally, because this couldn’t be anything other than a nightmare. Delle stood in front of him, all broken and twisted, wounded in the throat. Each breath they drew rattled in their chest. Their stripes shivered with them in the room’s poor lighting, glinting as they stepped closer to Hunk’s bed. They laughed, wheezing through their punctured lungs, blood frothing at their lips. Their eyes were dull, dead, but still they held out the knife, clutched in their hands, more of an offering than anything else.

 

Hunk flailed backwards, tangled in his bedsheets, until his back pressed against the wall. He clenched his teeth and forced himself to breathe. _I’m dreaming. Think it through._ He almost had his fear under control, but looking at Delle brought up more emotions than that. Not sadness, but regret and frustration and a horrible kind of hopelessness. There was no point in any of it, if this was what it led to, no point in the war, no point in Voltron. He hated, fervently, that he’d left Earth and travelled millions of lightyears across the universe and that all of his actions, deliberate or not, his fault or not, had led to this being’s death. Delle lurched forward a step, all grace wasted and gone, and the fear came back, overwhelming skin-crawling horror.

 

Hunk froze, snared in place. Delle stepped closer again, reaching out to touch him. He knew, this time, that they’d bite him, just lean in and rip his throat out, crunch through the trachea and leave him to die, choking for air. Delle leaned close enough now that he could smell the blood. They reached out and gripped the back of his neck, and he thought he was screaming. Someone was shouting too, someone he knew, and the thought that maybe he wasn’t alone allowed him to move. He lunged after Delle, determined to save himself this time, and-

 

He landed with a crash on the floor, jolted from his dream by the fall and too disoriented to notice at first that he’d managed to pin Keith.

 

“Hunk,” Keith whispered, wincing. “C’mon man, wake up. You’re having a nightmare. Wake up.”

 

Hunk tried and failed to process the situation. He had a forearm pressed to Keith’s throat, though thankfully not hard enough to cause any damage. He moved his arm quickly off Keith and braced his weight against it. Keith lay flat on his back, without his armor, a warm contrast to the icy cold floor. His hands rested lightly on Hunk’s biceps as a warning, but he wasn’t trying to free himself. He spread out under Hunk, pliant and unconcerned. Hunk could feel the slight pressure of Keith’s legs resting on either side of his hips. He spent a long moment wondering if he was actually awake, or if his nightmare had just devolved into some sort of fantasy.

 

“Hunk? You awake?” Keith asked, fingers squeezing Hunk’s arms lightly, just a ghost of a touch. Hunk couldn’t think straight. His heart raced, still out of control, and he could sense the adrenaline rush slipping away. He could feel each breath Keith took, calm and steady against his chest, as though getting knocked down by someone in the depths of a nightmare wasn’t all that alarming. Hunk shifted his weight a bit and felt Keith move with him.

 

“Yeah,” Hunk answered, though he wasn’t quite sure. The chill of the floor seeped through his clothes where he wasn’t pressed against Keith, and that, more than anything, convinced him that he was awake, and that this was really happening. He felt a moment of utter panic where he wondered if he’d hurt Keith, badly, and that this was why Keith was tolerating a large man on top of him, rather than just leveraging Hunk out of the way. Keith had been hurt earlier, during the fight, and who knew how many old injuries he had that didn’t heal because he never let himself rest.

 

“Hunk? Say something.”

 

“I’m awake,” Hunk blurted, frozen in place. _Get off of him. What the hell?_

 

“You’re sure about that?” Keith’s hands slid up to Hunk’s shoulders, but he didn’t shove Hunk away.

 

“Yeah, I’m awake.” Hunk paused to take a gulp of air. “Did I hurt you?”

 

“No. I’m okay, just a little startled that you managed to get the drop on me, literally.” Keith huffed a laugh, and Hunk felt it in his chest. He didn’t find this funny, at all. He wondered if Keith had cracked his skull on the floor.

 

“I was having a nightmare. I could’ve hurt you. I thought you were…”

 

“You wouldn’t hurt me.” Keith gave Hunk’s shoulder a pat that was almost affectionate. Hunk could feel him breathing, their bodies pressed together. It soothed him more than he cared to admit.

 

“You’re sure you didn’t hit your head?”

 

“I’m sure. My head’s fine. The floor isn’t doing my back any favors, though.”

 

“Oh. Um…”

 

“Yeah, so when you’re ready?”

 

“Right.” Hunk pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, then carefully rose to his feet, only slightly dizzy. He offered a hand to Keith and helped him up. Keith moved gingerly, shuffling forward the few steps to sit on Hunk’s bed.

 

“You’re hurt,” Hunk stated, frowning.

 

“You didn’t hurt me. I’m just sore,” Keith mumbled, trying to work a knot out of his shoulder with his fingers.

 

“Someone did,” Hunk said flatly, sitting down beside Keith. He could feel the last of the adrenaline leach away and tried to stop himself from shaking by sheer force of will. “Where did you go, anyway? Did it really take that long to report?”

 

“There was a slight change of plans. I gave my report, then headed back out with some other Blades. The Arziin who attacked you wasn’t working alone.”

 

“So, you went back and killed the others?” Hunk felt his heart sink. Keith didn’t have to say anything. His silence told Hunk everything he needed to know. Hunk laced his hands together in front of him and squeezed, hard. “Why would you do that?” His throat ached, matching the dull pain in his chest.

 

Keith didn’t answer. He crossed his arms and glared at the wall.

 

“Why would you do that?” Hunk demanded again, his voice catching. “It was bad enough knowing that the Marmora were arresting the traitors for execution. We’re not fucking mercenaries. The Arziin need to find a peaceful way to deal with these factions themselves. We drove out the Galra. We’ll get the defense systems working to give the people here a fighting chance. I just, can’t be responsible for anyone else dying here, Keith. I can’t.”

 

Keith exhaled slowly. “You’ve got at least another day on this planet, Hunk. I’d like you to survive it.”

 

“I’d like everyone to survive it,” Hunk snapped. “Even those traitorous, pro-Galra fucks. They need a chance to live without the Galra oppressing them. They might even fucking like it. I mean, how would they even know yet?” Hunk’s vision blurred, and he wiped at his eyes.

 

“Hunk…” Keith shifted closer, and Hunk felt a tentative touch on his shoulder. Torn between wanting to lean into Keith or shrug off his hand, he sat still and stared at the floor. Keith continued speaking, his voice quiet, as though he wasn’t quite sure how Hunk would react. “Hunk, there were factions on this planet long before Voltron showed up, before the Galra, even. You just got dropped into the middle of them. You’re not responsible for what the Arziin do now that there’s no Galra occupation. You got rid of the Galra – you did your job here. You don’t have to fix this for them.”

 

“I can’t fix it,” Hunk said. He rubbed his eyes again. “But, I can keep it from getting worse. And killing anyone who threatens me _is_ making it worse.” Hunk had not planned to have this discussion as a quiet conversation. He’d figured it would be more of a screaming match. Part of him wanted a screaming match, just to make Keith understand.

 

Keith shrugged. “You don’t even know which group is threatening you. We think you were attacked by a pro-Galra faction, but you also pissed off ninety percent of the new government when you made that announcement about the executions. You’d better just work fast, get the systems online for the Arziin, and get off the planet. Don’t bother investigating further – let the Marmora handle that. Once you’ve got the engineering side of things set up, we can finish the rest. You’re not obligated to search this planet top to bottom just to satisfy the Coalition’s curiosity. We have other leads to follow.”

 

Hunk sighed. “That sounds as good a plan as any.” He kept his eyes on the floor, avoiding looking at Keith. He was afraid that if he did he might start asking questions he really didn’t want to know the answer to… _Like how many people Keith just killed.._. Hunk unclenched his jaw and kept talking, trying to drown out his thoughts. “I’ll just get the job done and get out. Give the system specs to whoever’s in-charge here, and leave before I have to experience anymore of that mind-fuck bullshit. How’d the Galra manage to conquer these people anyway?” He asked, not expecting an answer.

 

“The Galra seem to be immune to the mental control. Me too, I think. I have at least enough Galra blood to keep the Arziin out of my brain.”

 

“Must be nice.” Hunk scowled. “Do they still try, though?”

 

“I don’t know,” Keith answered, thoughtful. “I haven’t noticed it myself. Galra respond differently to the pheromones anyway. They react to them, and can still be poisoned, but they can’t be entranced, or whatever.”

 

“How do they respond then?”

 

“Aggressively.” Keith’s tone said this wasn’t up for discussion.

 

“Must make it easier to kill them,” Hunk pressed.

 

“I don’t want to talk about this.”

 

The flat refusal hung awkwardly between them. Hunk shifted his gaze from the floor to the wall. He could feel Keith watching him, bristling with irritation, but lacking the outright anger that Hunk had expected. He waited, listening to the soft sound of Keith’s breathing. He didn’t want to let it go, but he wasn’t sure Keith would tolerate any more questions on the subject. He rubbed at his neck where Delle had licked him, and grimaced at the sensation. Keith eyed him for a moment, then called up the lights a notch. He turned so he sat sideways on the bed, facing Hunk.

 

“I talked to the medic about you and the Arziin.” Keith changed the topic as if they’d been discussing this all along. “I told her what I gave you for antidotes. She said the blood would’ve poisoned you on contact with your skin. She wondered how you’d gotten a dose of the venom. That’s what would’ve intensified the mental effects of the pheromones, as well as, um…” Keith trailed off, sounding embarrassed. He shook his head and continued. “And then the poison causes a response more like dizziness.” Keith reached out towards him, and Hunk made himself sit still. He stroked a thumb down Hunk’s throat, where Delle had licked him. Hunk gasped, and stifled a flinch. His skin felt like it was burning, the touch both painful and aggressively pleasing. _Um… what?_

 

“You’ve got a mark here,” Keith observed. “Were you bitten? There’ve been incidents… but the Arziin don’t need to bite to inject their venom. They just need to lick you. It’s like getting stung by a jellyfish.” Keith leaned closer, frowning at Hunk’s neck. “The mark’s pretty light, almost invisible against your skin. You might not even be able to see it. It’s not warm or anything. Does it hurt?” Keith swiped his thumb again and Hunk closed his eyes.

 

“Um… kind of? Not really though, no. I mean, it’s a weird sensation. Not sure if it’s pain?” Hunk couldn’t explain exactly. He squirmed in place. “Delle - the Arziin that attacked - licked me. It hurt then, I thought they were going to bite. But afterwards I kind of forgot about it. I was more worried about the scratches they left in my side. But it definitely feels strange when you touch it.” Hunk’s voice sounded breathy even to himself. _Yeah, it’s not pain._

 

“Oh,” said Keith, thinking it over. He removed his hands abruptly, and Hunk felt almost dizzy from the loss. “The medic said that there might be… lingering effects from a combination of things.”

 

“Sounds fantastic,” Hunk drawled. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, feeling like they’d left this conversation in a very awkward place. Keith still hadn’t moved, watching Hunk with a strange expression. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but couldn’t. Eventually, he looked away, his gaze falling on their gear.

 

“Did you bandage the scratches?” Keith asked, heading for the first aid kit. “And clean them? She was worried about that too.”

 

“Soap and water. I didn’t wrap them. They don’t have venom in their fingernails too, do they?”

 

“I don’t think so, but you’re not from this planet. You shouldn’t take risks.”

 

“That’s an odd thing to hear from you. Maybe you should take your own advice.”

 

Keith appeared to consider this for a moment. “Unlikely.”

 

Hunk thought he saw a flash of a grin, but it was gone again so quickly he wasn’t sure. Keith returned to his side a second later, rummaging through the first aid kit. He placed two rolls of bandages and a bottle of green liquid on the bed beside Hunk.

 

“Take off your shirt,” he ordered.

 

“Or what, you’ll cut it off me?” Hunk joked in response, surprised at himself. _Ah yes, that’ll be the delirium of over-tiredness kicking in. Don’t forget how angry you are at him._ Keith didn’t falter.

 

“Yours was ruined anyway. And keeping the poison in contact with your skin. And I couldn’t hold you upright in the shower and strip you at the same time.”

 

“Out of practice?” Hunk suggested. _Stop talking. Just stop._

 

“I will throw this at you, and I don’t care if it hurts you.” Keith lifted the kit. Hunk scoffed at the threat and tugged his shirt off over his head, careful not to catch the fabric against his wounded side.

 

“Whatever, Keith. Do you want me to stand?”

 

“No, just lie down on your side.”

 

Hunk stretched out as ordered, and Keith sat on the edge of the bed next to him, half-leaning over him.

 

“This is gonna sting,” Keith warned. “It’s Galra-made.”

 

“Yeah, I figured.” Hunk tensed as Keith swabbed his wounds with antiseptic, the contact smarting at first but then deepening into an intense burning sensation. He wanted to claw at his side, and clasped his hands in front of his chest to stop himself.

 

“It’s going to get worse for the next couple dobashes, but then it’ll stop. This stuff is nasty, but it always works, you won’t get an infection.” Keith settled in closer, tucked up against Hunk’s belly. He reached over Hunk’s side and, after a moment of hesitation, rubbed gentle circles onto his lower back.

 

“I think ‘sting’ doesn’t quite describe it.” Hunk gritted his teeth. “It didn’t hurt this much when it happened.”

 

“Yeah, Galra medicine seems to be pretty much kill or cure. The first time Kolivan dumped this stuff on me I screamed and hit him.”

 

“I’m sure he loved that.”

 

“I think he thought it was funny. I thought I was going to die.”

 

“Yeah, I get that feeling.” Hunk could feel sweat beaded on his forehead. “I’m glad you didn’t do this earlier – I don’t think I would’ve been able to handle it.”

 

“You’re doing fine, Hunk. It’s almost finished.”

 

“Great. And then no more Galra medicine for me, ever.”

 

“No promises. You still might need another round of the antidotes, just to be safe.”

 

“That’s fine, but none of this, ever again,” Hunk panted, almost to the point of keening. Keith’s hand on his back soothed him a bit, he appreciated the gesture, but it couldn’t block out the pain. Hunk took a gulping breath, his vision darkening around the edges. An instant later, he felt fine, the pain disappeared as though it had never been.

 

“It’s done. I’ll bandage it now.”

 

“What kind of sadistic fucking doctor made that antiseptic?” Hunk demanded. “That sucked.”

 

“Full blood Galra have a pretty high pain tolerance. Humans, not so much.”

 

“Apparently so,” Hunk growled. His side twinged as Keith adjusted the bandage, and he focused on his breathing.

 

“That’ll take care of the scratches. They won’t get infected, but you need to tell me if they don’t close. I don’t know what to do about the sting on your neck. I can take you to the medic in the morning. I probably should anyway.” Keith’s hand had returned to Hunk’s back, and he stroked small circles absently, as though he was unaware of what he was doing. It was unreasonably soothing, and Hunk relaxed into the touch, feeling almost calm enough to try sleeping again.

 

He closed his eyes and let his mind drift, vaguely aware that Keith remained at his side. He didn’t know what that meant, whether Keith felt concern or guilt or any of the things Hunk would’ve felt, had their situations been reversed. He tried not to think about what it must’ve been like, heading back out into the night to kill even more people, as though one wasn’t enough, as though they had deserved it. Hunk couldn’t stand it. He tensed and lifted his head to look at Keith. Keith noticed at that moment that he was still touching Hunk, and snatched his hand away. Hunk didn’t miss the touch as much as he thought he would.

 

“Get some sleep,” Keith ordered, climbing awkwardly to his feet. Hunk propped his head up on one arm, analysing the way Keith stood. He looked sore, hunched over a bit, as though he’d been hit in the stomach repeatedly. _And then I fucking threw him on the floor. No wonder he’s not moving too fast._

 

“Are you alright? You’re sure you aren’t hurt?”

 

“Nothing that time won’t cure,” Keith muttered. He stood watching Hunk, as though he’d forgotten where he was going. He picked up Hunk’s shirt and handed it to him.

 

Hunk sat up to tug the shirt over his head, then settled back under his blankets. To his surprise, Keith sat down on the bed again, facing away from Hunk.

 

“I’ll stay here till you fall asleep,” he offered.

 

“You don’t have to… but yeah, okay. Wake me up if I start yelling. Or, you know, I might jump up and fall on you.”

 

“I wouldn’t say you fell on me, that was definitely a tackle.”

 

“That’s worse. I didn’t mean to…”

 

Keith snorted a laugh, but immediately winced and couldn’t hide it. “I’ll be alright, Hunk. You should get some sleep though. We have to get back up in a couple vargas.”

 

“You’re sure?”

 

“I stopped at the medic’s before coming back here. I’m okay.”

 

“Given what I now know about Galra medicine, that’s not exactly reassuring.” Hunk figured he’d picked enough fights with Keith for one day, and let the matter drop. He shuffled closer to the wall to give Keith more room on the bunk.

 

“You want a blanket?” He asked, stifling his brain’s helpful suggestion that he offer Keith space in the bed, with him. _You’re pissed at him, remember? Who knows how many people he just killed, and you’re gonna invite him into your bed like it doesn’t matter?_ Keith tucked a leg under himself and reached for a datapad, already shaking his head.

 

“I’m fine. Get some rest.” He waved off the lights, leaving them alone in the darkness of an alien-built military facility, on another alien planet, millions of lightyears from home.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How many tropes can I fit in one fic? All of them? This story is super self-indulgent and out of control, but also we’re 30k+ words in and no one’s got a handjob yet, so yeah, I don’t know what’s going on… Sorry it’s such a mess – if anything is too confusing or inconsistent, please let me know. And I realize this chapter is pretty rough, but I needed to get it posted so I could move on with my life.


	8. Hunk has the worst dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left kudos or comments – your feedback makes me happy! This chapter rated M for swearing, violence, killing, brief sexual content, and general horror-themed weirdness. I wrote the first half of this over Halloween, which just goes to show how long it takes me to write these days. All characters depicted are 18+.

 

Eight

 

Hunk couldn’t remember what might have woken him. The room around him rested in a quiet darkness. A quick glance at his datapad gave him the time, still off-shift, barely two vargas past when he’d finally settled back to sleep. He turned on his side, facing the room, shuffling deeper into the warmth of his blankets. He could just barely see Keith, still seated on the edge of the bunk, slumped forward as he dozed. Keith shivered in his sleep. Hunk figured he was half-frozen in the chill of the sleeping quarters, despite the fact that most Galra seemed impervious to temperature fluctuation. At least, compared to humans, as far as Hunk’s anecdotal evidence went.

 

His movement disturbed Keith, because he sat up and turned towards Hunk, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He looked at Hunk for a long moment, just staring, as though he’d never seen him before. Hunk bit back the urge to tease him about it. It didn’t seem fair. Keith looked cold, and tired, and vulnerable, and Hunk’s brain ran through half a dozen scenarios of how this situation could play out. In the end, he didn’t say anything, just settled back further into the bunk and lifted the blanket in offering.

 

Keith must’ve been cold, at least enough to overcome his usual aversion to physical proximity. He followed Hunk into the bed, allowing Hunk to pull the blankets up over both of them. Hunk scarcely dared breathe. Keith wore a haunted expression, and Hunk held himself very still, wondering if Keith had nightmares anything like his own. He could feel Keith breathing, the tension of his body, the slight pressure of his chest against his own. Keith’s gaze dropped to Hunk’s mouth, half an invitation, and Hunk leaned in and kissed him, unable to help himself. Keith sighed, the sound softer and more contented than Hunk had ever heard from him.

 

Hunk counted that as a good sign. He closed his eyes, and Keith kissed him back. He let Hunk go further, too, tolerated a hand on his hip, settled in chest to chest. He twined his arms around Hunk’s neck and relaxed in close, and Hunk rolled them both over, until Keith was stretched out under him, safe and warm. Neither said a word. Hunk found that odd, and would’ve said something, but then Keith moved again, and the distraction drove all thoughts out of his head.

 

He buried his face in the crook of Keith’s shoulder, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along his throat. Keith sighed again and pulled him closer, hands trailing down Hunk’s back. He lifted his hips and Hunk rocked against him. They moved slowly, figuring each other out. It felt right to have Keith here, under the blankets with him, pliant and responsive and honestly a bit more submissive than Hunk had expected, given what he knew about Keith, what he’d heard about Keith.

 

“I know about Keith,” he murmured, mouth on the smooth slope of Keith’s collarbone, and woke up.

 

Hunk couldn’t remember what might have woken him. The room around him was dimly lit, only the emergency lighting breaking up the darkness here and there. He thought he’d been dreaming about making out with Keith, and hoped fervently that he hadn’t said anything in his sleep. _Because that would be so, so awkward._ Hunk eased onto his side quietly and looked around the living quarters. He couldn’t see much without calling the lights up, and he was sure that Keith wouldn’t thank him for that, if Keith was even here. He could make out the doorway at the end of the room by the purple glow of the access pad, and a couple communications screens flickered green, but the rest of the room was in shadow. The lack of noise was eerie, almost as bad as the vacuum of space. He could hear himself breathing, and that was it. If he thought about it too much, he’d start to hear his own heartbeat, and everything usually went downhill from there.

 

Hunk glanced down the bed, looking for Keith, raising the lights just the tiniest bit to confirm that he wasn’t alone. Keith knelt awkwardly on the floor beside the bunk, slumped forward so that his head and one arm rested on the mattress. The position couldn’t have been comfortable, at all, and Hunk knew how cold that floor was. He waved the lights up another notch and hissed Keith’s name.

 

“Hey, Keith, wake up. You’ll thank me for this, I swear. Go sleep in an actual bed.”

 

Keith didn’t move. Hunk sighed. He sat up and shoved his covers back, then slid halfway off the bunk until he could reach Keith. He debated shaking Keith’s shoulder, but that seemed like a good way to get tossed across a room. He settled for gently nudging Keith’s arm, followed by a quick retreat out of range.

 

“Keith, get up. Find somewhere better to sleep. There are eight beds in this room and you decided to take the floor? Is this some sort of ninja bullshit, where you’re not allowed to be warm and comfy?” Hunk didn’t get a response. Frowning, he risked touching Keith again, giving his arm a little shake. Keith felt cold as ice. He didn’t move.

 

“Keith? Are you sick?” Hunk climbed the rest of the way out of bed and crouched beside Keith. Heedless of the potential danger, he gripped Keith’s shoulder and shook it, not at all gently.

 

Keith didn’t respond. Didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

 

“No. Oh no no no no Keith, wake up, you have to get up-” Hunk shook Keith again, watching in horror as his friend slumped lifelessly. The room seemed to close in around him, and all he could hear was his heartbeat thudding in his chest.

 

“Someone help!” Hunk staggered upright, lunging for the nearest communication screen. His feet tangled in his blankets, slowing him down. He thrashed and fell, and woke up again, shaking and sick, unable to remember what might have woken him.

 

The room around him rested in darkness and silence.

 

Hunk took a deep breath and held it for as long as he dared. He squeezed his eyes shut, exhaled slowly, and looked around. Keith moved beside him suddenly, out of nowhere, one hand gripping Hunk’s shoulder. Hunk startled and swore. Keith frowned at him, not letting go.

 

“You okay? You should go back to sleep. There’s time.” Keith leaned in, studying Hunk intently. Hunk yielded the space, moving out of the way. Keith followed, just a little too quickly, a little too close. There was something slightly erratic to his movements, a wastefulness that contrasted with Keith’s usual economy of motion. His eyes gleamed brightly. Hunk pushed the blankets aside, deeply unsettled but unable to articulate why.

 

“I’m okay. I think I’m done with sleeping though. Are you alright? You’re kind of… in my space.”

 

Hunk moved to sit up but Keith stopped him. He planted one hand firmly on Hunk’s chest, fingers splayed. Hunk grabbed his wrist but didn’t push him away, and Keith crawled up onto the bunk beside him. The way he moved was disturbing in a way Hunk couldn’t quite place. Keith’s hand pinned him, on his back in the bed, more with implied threat than any real force. _And that’s weird. That’s not like Keith, at all. Nothing about this is like Keith, at all._

 

“Yeah, about that…” Keith said, sliding a leg over Hunk’s waist to straddle him. “Is this okay?” He asked, both hands on Hunk’s chest now, most of his weight in Hunk’s lap, not really giving Hunk much time to consider. He didn’t seem to care about Hunk’s answer, anyway.

 

“Um… yeah? I guess…” Hunk rested his hands on Keith’s hips, still slightly confused but rapidly not caring much about that. He let one hand skim along Keith’s thigh, just barely touching, and Keith smirked and leaned down until he could drag his teeth gently over Hunk’s throat. _Well, that’s weird._ “Yeah… that’s okay…”

 

“Glad you think so,” Keith huffed a laugh, his breath soft against Hunk’s ear. His voice, when he spoke, didn’t quite sound like himself. “It was so cold, down on the floor. I knew you wouldn’t wake up in time,” he said, chilled fingers sliding along Hunk’s neck, and this time Hunk heard the rattle in Keith’s chest, the gurgle of blood in his lungs. He pulled his head away, hands clenching around Keith’s shoulders. Sharp teeth paused over his trachea, hesitating just long enough for Hunk to feel sick with horror. The bite was more a sensation of piercing than anything else, and Hunk couldn’t scream, could only thrash and kick. He couldn’t throw Keith, or whatever it was, away from him, because their teeth were in him, biting down, they were connected-

 

A thud, suddenly, and then the lights were on. Keith was sprawled on the floor beside the bed, slightly startled, looking as though he’d just been tossed there. He stretched out his legs in front of him, scowling in discomfort.

 

“Your dreams must suck,” he stated, flatly, extending one arm experimentally and frowning at its stiffness. He peered up at Hunk through his tousled hair, dark eyes glinting.

 

“You know, they really do.” Hunk flopped back on his pillow. “Fucking hell.” He pinched his hand, desperate to confirm whether or not he was really awake this time. His heart thudded in his chest, so loud he was sure Keith could hear it too. He wanted to check that Keith was alright, but he couldn’t bear the thought that he might be dreaming still, that reality might twist and warp around him. _I can’t do that again. Fuck._

 

Keith noticed the pinch and frowned. “You’re awake now, Hunk. It’s okay.”

 

“I’m not sure.” Hunk squeezed his eyes shut and counted to twenty. When he opened them, the room was the same as it had been, lights on, and Keith was nearly to his feet. He moved slowly, using the bed to help himself up.

 

“The medic said weird dreams might be another side effect you’d experience. They won’t last long. I didn’t mention it because you seem to have enough trouble sleeping already.”

 

“Yeah.” Hunk collected his thoughts. “Nightmares aren’t really anything new. How’d you end up on the floor?”

 

“I fell asleep sitting up beside you. You knocked me off the bed.” Keith announced with an air of offended dignity. He brushed dust off his clothes and straightened up with a wince.

 

“This is the fourth time I’ve woken up in a row. The last couple times weren’t so great.” Hunk grabbed a handful of his own hair and gave it a tug, just enough to hurt a little. Keith watched him, looking as though he wanted to reach out and stop him, but wasn’t sure of the best way to do that. Hunk paused. “Did I hurt you? Throwing you on the floor again.”

 

“No, not really. I’ve accepted that this is my life now, occasionally getting thrown onto floors. Maybe getting thrown onto floors fairly often,” Keith drawled, and Hunk felt a bit better.

 

“Professional hazard for ninjas?” He asked.

 

“Only the ones assigned to watch you.”

 

 *

 

The wind off the steppe was brisk and smelt like snow. Hunk didn’t know if snow was actually possible on this planet, given that everything he’d seen so far had had a rather parched appearance, but he didn’t want to discount it. Things could always get worse. Storm clouds loomed on the horizon, but they hadn’t moved in the last four hours and Hunk had filed them away as something to worry about later. His immediate problem was the six-thousand-foot-deep missile silo drilled into the plain in front of him. He felt vertigo just looking at it.

 

“It’s Galra-made,” Keith offered, suddenly appearing at his side. Hunk suppressed a flinch and turned towards him. He hadn’t seen Keith since earlier that morning, when they’d combed through yet another Galra installation. It was difficult to even just be around Keith sometimes – Hunk wasn’t sure whether he was feeling annoyance or desire half the time, and that was before he tried to puzzle out the huge ideological divide between them. _I just have… a lot of fucking feelings…_

 

“Figures,” Hunk muttered, not looking at Keith. The silo stretched a mile across, and Hunk just knew he was going to end up spending the rest of his day there.

 

Sometimes he hated being right.

 

It was evening before he’d cobbled the silo’s weapons systems back into a workable state, linking it to others on the continent, and to the few satellites that remained in orbit. He’d had to reprogram most of the workstations in the control room, and then reconfigure the equations that would launch the missiles, if needed, on the correct trajectories. It had taken a lot of math, and a lot of welding, and in one instance just blunt physical force to realign an actual rocket, but he’d gotten it done. It wasn’t much, but it would allow the Arziin to defend their planet, at least until some sort of help arrived. He’d linked the system into the Galra base the Marmora used, and gave Keith all the passcodes to give to Kolivan. As far as Hunk was concerned, Kolivan could deliver the codes to the Arziin politicians. He figured that they didn’t want to see him any more than he wanted to see them.

 

Keith sent the passcodes through the interface in his gauntlet, and didn’t say a word about why they were going to the Marmora and not the Arziin. He’d quietly helped the entire time they’d spent in the silo, revealing a surprising amount of knowledge about the Galra-made systems, and able to answer almost all of Hunk’s questions about the Galra language without having to ask another Blade. Hunk had known that Keith was fairly no-nonsense about work, but he was admittedly surprised at the sheer amount of information Keith provided him, quickly and without hesitation, and the skill with which he handled the Galra interfaces. It rapidly became apparent that Keith flew Galra spacecraft all the time, and that compared to the complexity of those systems, a missile silo was nothing.

 

All things considered, Hunk’s day had been fairly productive. He could almost say it’d gone well. The need to focus on the work had calmed him greatly, just by the sheer amount of concentration required to repair any sort of advanced alien weapons. He’d accomplished his main goal of providing defense for the planet. He’d greatly increased his knowledge of Galra technology. He’d even managed not to pick a fight with Keith, in a spirit of peacefulness that Keith certainly did not deserve. He was just tidying up, gathering scattered tools and maybe admiring the way the repaired interfaces lit up the control room and Keith’s cheekbones, when the first of the assassins arrived to kill him.

 

Hunk was certain they’d arrived to kill him and not Keith, even though Keith’s body-count on this planet had to be reaching massacre-like levels. They addressed him as “Paladin” in the same tone as they called Keith “Galra scum,” and raised their weapons at him without hesitation. Hunk barely had time to offer a protest in the spirit of non-violent conflict resolution before Keith tackled him to the floor with a hissed “stay down.” Which of course, Hunk had no intention of doing. For one, this time he had his armor and bayard. For two, he was determined that no one else was going to get killed because of him. Not the Arziin, who’d only had the bad luck to have their planet enslaved by Galra, and bloodily liberated by Voltron, and then dissolve into factions in the aftermath. And not Keith, because if Keith died now he’d never know just how pissed off Hunk was about everything he’d done.

 

Hunk flicked his helmet’s visor down, hoping it would filter the pheromones out of the air. He took a deep breath and reached out to Yellow with his mind, hoping that she’d find the initiative to fly down into the silo and help them out. He rolled to his feet to find two Arziin on the floor in their death throes and Keith stepping over the body of a third, on his way to kill a fourth.  Three other Arziin were trying to flank him, reaching out long striped limbs. Hunk took a running leap forward, swinging his bayard into its heavy gun format, and hoping the assassins would surrender before anyone else got murdered.  

 

He felt the bayard power up in his hands and aimed it at the main control panel in the room, ready to destroy a hard day’s work.

 

“I’ll do it,” he shouted. “I’ll blast the whole system down. No surface to orbit missiles for anyone. You’ll never fix it.”

 

“We don’t care, Paladin,” the nearest Arziin sneered, beautiful and cold. It shot directly at Hunk’s face, the bullets ricocheting off his helmet, the force of impact enough to push him back a step.

 

“We can work this out,” Hunk tried again, struggling to hold his ground. “Whatever it is, we can fix it.”

 

“Impossible,” another Arziin hissed, arming an energy weapon. Hunk managed to dodge its first shot but the second sizzled against his armor and knocked him down. When he got back up the Arziin who’d shot him was bleeding out on the floor and the remaining two were locked in a vicious struggle with Keith. _This is so fucking awful._

 

“Stop it,” he shouted, hearing the edge of a shriek in his voice. He morphed his bayard into its shield form and ran towards the combatants. They broke apart, the two Arziin lunging for Hunk, and Keith leaping after the Arziin, trying to keep himself in the middle of the fight. Hunk ducked around Keith and bounced an Arziin off the shield, sending it hurtling backwards. He turned to subdue the other in time to watch Keith slit its throat.

 

“Stop killing them, for fucks sake,” Hunk blurted, clutching at Keith’s arm as he headed for the last Arziin. Keith knocked his hand away and side-stepped him, so quickly Hunk couldn’t catch him. The Arziin rolled to its feet, knife in hand.

 

“Don’t!” Hunk yelled, reaching after Keith. He missed his grab and lost his balance, the floor slippery with blood. The Arziin slashed wildly at Keith, who slid under the knife somehow, coming up inside the Arziin’s guard. The Arziin ducked aside and dove around him, heading straight for Hunk with single-minded determination. Hunk lunged sideways and lifted his shield, hearing a screech as the Arziin’s knife dragged along it. He shoved the Arziin away from him, back towards Keith, and immediately knew he’d made a mistake. Keith caught the Arziin on his blade as it turned towards him. He heaved upwards, slicing it open from flank to sternum. The Arziin screamed and fell, and Keith wrenched the blade free. He stood there a moment to ensure it was dead, then stepped over the body to confirm the rest of his kills.

 

Hunk couldn’t breathe. He yanked off his helmet and threw it across the room, then grabbed two fistfuls of his hair and pulled until he could focus. He turned to follow Keith, worried that he’d dispatch any survivors, and wondered how he’d manage to fight Keith for the life of an Arziin assassin. It was a moot point anyway. A quick glance around revealed seven unmoving bodies, centered in expanding pools of blood. They weren’t Galra soldiers, not that that would’ve been any better, but at least then they were at war. He was going to be sick.  

 

“This is wrong. It’s disgusting. They shouldn’t have died.” Hunk said, looking for Keith. Keith appeared at his elbow, holding Hunk’s helmet. He appeared unruffled for the most part, slightly winded and spattered with blood, not elated about the violence, but certainly satisfied with the outcome. Hunk decided he didn’t want to look at Keith any more. Keith pushed the helmet at him.

 

“Put it back on.”

 

“You shouldn’t have killed them.” Hunk glared at Keith, taking his helmet and shoving it onto his head.

 

“Do you have a fucking death wish?” Keith snapped. “Because if you do, you need to tell me right now.”

 

“Do you?” Hunk challenged back, so angry he almost couldn’t see straight.

 

“I’m not the person throwing himself at assassins sent to kill him, asking why can’t we all get along.” Keith glowered, his entire body thrumming with tension, looking as though he’d love for this argument to devolve into a fist fight. Hunk was tempted to start it, just to see if Keith would hit him back. He suppressed the impulse, but only barely.

 

“We’re not at war with the Arziin. This planet, and its people, are under our protection.”

 

“That doesn’t mean that they can’t want you dead, Hunk. Those things aren’t mutually exclusive.”

 

“I don’t care. I don’t want them dead,” Hunk felt himself losing his grip on his temper again and struggled to rein it in. He never had this problem when he wasn’t around Keith. “No one dies to save me, no one gets killed for me. No murder on my behalf, whether it’s to protect me or not, whether I’m going to die or not.” He grabbed Keith by the arm, held him still, felt him tense under his grip. Keith didn’t like it, but he hadn’t reversed the hold or tossed Hunk aside. He stood there, bristling with irritation, and waited for Hunk to let him go.

 

“It’s a fucking war, Hunk. People die, and sometimes it’s because I killed them. I’m not gonna stand by and see you get killed when I could prevent it.” Keith tore his arm free and took a step back. Hunk thought it was to keep himself from lashing out. He was pretty sure Keith wouldn’t hit him. Despite his temper, he’d never taken a swing at any of them in anger. The temptation to provoke him reared up again, and Hunk stamped it down. Keith put a little more space between them and continued, raw anger apparent in his voice.

 

“What if it was Pidge here, alone on this planet? Or Lance? Or Allura? Do you think I’d let assassins hurt them? Do you think I’d let assassins hurt any of you, or any of the Marmora, for that matter?”

 

“I know you’d protect them,” Hunk answered carefully, feeling his anger slipping away and clutching after it. “I just… I mean, Keith, look around us. This room’s a fucking nightmare.” He gestured at the bodies. “Are you so sure they all deserved to die?”

 

“It doesn’t matter what they deserved or not, Hunk. When has that ever mattered? They came here to kill you or die trying, and they died trying.”

 

“Well you made certain that they died, that’s for sure.”

 

“I made certain that you’d live,” Keith spat, “at least until the next time you decide to do something stupid like argue for mercy for assassins, as they’re actively trying to kill you.” Keith’s hands were clenched into fists at his sides.

 

“Do you hear what I’m saying at all? Are you even listening?” Hunk took a step closer to Keith, making Keith look up at him, even if there was only a slight difference in their heights. “Because we seem to be having two different arguments here. I told you, after the… after the first time, that I didn’t want anyone killed. I told you,” Hunk ground out, scared that if he stopped being angry he might burst into tears.

 

“And I told you I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you. And I admit I fucked up the first time, when Delle got too close. They shouldn’t have been able to get near you at all, and they almost managed to kill you. And I know you don’t want them killed, Hunk, but you’re only safe if they’re dead. Dead, not captured, not wounded, dead. So, if I have to choose between killing Arziin and watching you die, then I’m gonna kill Arziin. And if I have to choose between you being safe and you being happy, then I pick safe. I don’t care if you hate me for it, either.”

 

Keith stepped around Hunk and headed for the communications panel near the door. Hunk watched him, saw that he was limping, and resisted the urge to help him. He felt dazed, and horrified, and sadder than he’d even thought possible.

 

“I don’t hate you for it,” he said quietly. Keith didn’t look back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keith is all like, Hunk can throw me on the floor any time he wants… Too bad he’s being thwarted by the constant stream of angst that is my writing style. This fic will be rated Explicit eventually, it’s just taking longer to get there than planned… Mostly because I got everyone stuck on this side-plot of a planet and I’m still in the process of writing them off of it. But anyway, let me know what you liked, or disliked, or found confusing.


	9. Hunk is done with everything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left kudos or comments – your feedback makes me happy! This chapter rated M for swearing, described past violence, conversations about death and killing, and mentions of sexuality. This is a ‘wrap-up and move on’ chapter, so… not wonderful, lol. All characters depicted are 18+.

 

Nine

 

Hunk flew them both back to the Marmora base in Yellow. Keith didn’t speak the entire time, and Hunk wondered if he’d used up his daily quota of words during their fight. They left the bodies of the assassins where they’d fallen, scattered around the control room. Any satisfaction Hunk had felt about his accomplishment, fixing an entire surface to orbit weapons system in a matter of hours, had been stripped away by the brutality that followed. He barely felt anything anymore, just empty and numb, and as they landed at the base he realized Keith was watching him worriedly.

 

Hunk ignored him. He left his gearbox behind in Yellow, knowing he should check his tools but unable to deal with the possibility that they’d been spattered with blood. He walked out of the lion and heard Keith behind him, gathering up their gear. At the main gates of the base he realized he didn’t have a passcode, but the guard on duty glanced at Keith and let them both in. Once inside Keith stepped in front of him, and he stared at Keith’s feet as they headed further into the base. He wanted a shower, and then he wanted to sleep for a hundred years.

 

Keith led them through the maze of hallways unerringly, touching the bio-locks and entering passcodes as needed. The more he walked the less he limped, and Hunk wondered if the Marmora had taught him to just ignore pain. Keith took them into the ready room where they’d patched themselves up the previous night, and dropped the packs and gearbox on one of the benches. He struggled to strip off his armor, fumbling the pauldrons when he had to lift them off his shoulders and over his head. Hunk didn’t offer to help, his anger simmering just below the surface. He watched Keith fight to undo a chest-plate strap until his guilt got the better of him. Keith probably had gotten hurt more badly in that last fight than he was allowing himself to show. _As usual…_

 

Hunk reached over to unfasten Keith’s armor, ignoring the wave of déjà vu the action caused. The Marmora armor just wasn’t enough to protect Keith from the situations he put himself in. Hunk didn’t say anything to Keith, assuming they’d both be happier that way. Keith didn’t quite flinch as Hunk peeled away the thinner pieces covering his sides. His under-armor stuck to his skin, the soft black material barely showing that it’d been soaked through with sweat or blood. Hunk couldn’t tell which at first, but his fingertips came away red. He frowned at his hands, but Keith was already kicking off his boots and heading for the showers. Hunk followed, despite himself.

 

“You’re hurt,” he stated, stepping into the shower stall where Keith was labouring unsuccessfully to get out of his shirt. Keith startled at his voice, then narrowed his eyes.

 

“I’m fine,” he snapped. “Get out.”

 

Hunk shook his head. “Look, I don’t want to be around you right now either, but I’m not leaving you to pass out and drown in the shower. You can let me help, or I can call the medic.”

 

“You’re overreacting,” Keith responded. He didn’t add, _as usual_ , but Hunk could tell he was thinking it. “There’s a medkit on top of the lockers. I need a round of antidotes.”

 

“Because you got their blood on you,” Hunk said flatly. Keith finally managed to pull his shirt over his head, revealing a long, angry looking gash on his side. “And because you fucking got stabbed. Come on, Keith. Why didn’t you say something?”

 

Keith shrugged. “Are you a medic?” He bent carefully to slide his pants off, wincing only a little. He reached to turn on the water, oblivious to his own nudity. “A knife slid off my ribs. That’s why we have ribs.”

 

“That is _not_ why we have ribs,” Hunk growled, keeping his eyes focused at a point on the wall above Keith’s head. Keith stepped under the shower and suppressed a yelp as the water splashed over his wound. He pressed one hand over the cut and braced the other against the wall. He looked like he might pass out. Half of the stitches in his arm had torn open at some point during the fight. Keith didn’t seem to have noticed yet.

 

“I’ll be back in a minute. Try not to fall over.” Hunk headed back to the ready-room, pretending that he didn’t hear the muttered “always do” behind him.

 

*

 

Hunk liked the Blades’ medic. She was sharp and no-nonsense, and looked strong enough to bench-press a short-range shuttle. She stitched up Keith’s side with efficient dexterity, grumbling good-naturedly about how soft and delicate Keith’s skin was, and how it always forced her to be that much more careful not to rip a stitch through it. Keith bore her ministrations without a sound, which was better than Hunk was doing watching. The medic tied off the end of her sutures and snipped away the excess. She spent a few moments speaking to Keith in Galran, and left with a nod at Hunk.

 

Figuring that Keith probably wouldn’t leave him trapped in the ready-room, Hunk left him on the bench and took his own shower. He resisted the urge to yank at his hair and scream, choosing instead to turn up the hot water and lean against the wall. _Keith just killed seven people like it was nothing. Seven. And that was just in the past couple hours. Fucking hell._ Hunk turned up the heat again, until it was just this edge of bearable, and closed his eyes. He didn’t know how long he stood there.

 

“Are you making a sauna?” Keith stood in the doorway, letting in a draft. Hunk flinched.

 

“Close the damn door,” he swore, realizing immediately that it wasn’t the same as saying, _get out_. Keith stepped inside the stall and closed the door behind him. He was still nude save for a towel wrapped around his waist, and held a bundle of clean clothing in his hands. Hunk assumed it would be difficult for Keith to put on his clothes and armor with his side and arm freshly stitched up. If he wasn’t cautious, he’d tear the sutures open. “If you can’t dress yourself, I’ll be out to help you in a bit.”

 

Keith nodded in agreement but didn’t leave. “Yeah, okay.” He fidgeted as though he wanted to say something more, but couldn’t get the words out. Instead he glared at Hunk, until Hunk started to feel a little self-conscious. He was naked in a shower stall, and Keith was decidedly not-dressed and standing three feet away. There’d always been group showers at the Garrison, but with just the two of them it felt way too intimate. _This situation was reversed half a varga ago. Don’t make it weird._

 

“What do you want?” Hunk asked, not bothering to hide his irritation. “If it’s to fight about the morality of using lethal force on an aggressive civilian population, you’re gonna have to wait until I’ve finished washing my hair.”

 

Keith crossed his arms warily over his chest and leaned against the door, a frown creasing his forehead. Bruises, in a variety of colors, mottled his pale skin. “Kolivan’s happy with your work. He says the Arziin are too. They’ll clean up the control room. Nothing was damaged in the fight.” His words were clipped and precise, a soldier giving a report.

 

Hunk grit his teeth. “I’d rebuild the whole damn system from scratch if it meant those people would still be alive.”

 

Keith didn’t answer, just scowled at the wall behind Hunk’s head. Finally, he ground out, “I don’t want to fight with you.”

 

Hunk thought that those words might actually be a strange, Keith-like way of apologising. “About violence in the context of the theater of war, or just in general?” He asked, deciding that one, an apology should express remorse, and two, any apology about a situation where people had actually died would never be good enough, anyway.

 

“I mean it, Hunk.” Keith seemed torn between attempting to reach an understanding, and his natural inability to back down from an argument.

 

Hunk closed his eyes, counted to ten, and tried to be fair. Really, really tried. “That’s an easy thing to say,” he began, realizing as he said it that it probably hadn’t been easy for Keith. He decided he didn’t care. He let the silence hang between them before continuing. “But your actions speak differently. You knew-” Hunk choked off his sentence, knowing he couldn’t keep his voice under control. _You knew I didn’t want you to kill them. You knew and you did it anyway._

 

Hunk turned away from Keith and pressed a button on the dispenser, hoping it would provide him with shampoo. He bit back his first response of _you might not have a choice_ , trying to pick words that wouldn’t escalate things. He lathered the soap between his hands and worked it into his hair. “I don’t want to fight with you either, but there are some things we can’t agree to disagree about. Some things are just always going to upset me.” He glanced at Keith, but the other was still glaring at the wall.

 

Hunk focused on rinsing his hair. He resented Keith for making him have this conversation naked. He didn’t think Keith was making this awkward on purpose – it was more likely that Keith didn’t care about being nude, and so hadn’t realized that other people might. And, generally, Hunk didn’t care either. _It’s just, well… different when it’s Keith. Weirder. Keith is making it weird._

 

“The Arziin politicians wanted to meet with you, but I asked Kolivan to send someone to run interference. I let him know about the possibility that they’re the ones trying to kill you. It’s unlikely that you’ll have to see them again.”

 

Hunk acknowledged the offering with a terse nod. “Thank you.”

 

Keith stayed silent for a few moments, unaware or uncaring of the discomfort his presence caused. Hunk tried to ignore him. When Keith pushed away from the wall, Hunk assumed he was going to leave. Instead, Keith came closer, stepping partly into the shower with Hunk. Hunk froze in place, unable to process what was happening. He was naked, and Keith was there, and despite everything, the fear and the anger and the shock of even just surviving another brutal attack, he still wanted Keith. His body wanted Keith. And at least the part of his brain that liked to fantasize sexually still wanted Keith. _That’s not… a good idea…_

 

For a moment, Keith was so close to him, Hunk could hardly stand it. It would be so easy to just make an offer and see how Keith responded. It wouldn’t matter that they couldn’t stand each other right now. Hunk’s brain could come up with a dozen solutions for that, most of which involved his tongue and fingers. He wanted to push Keith up against the wall and touch him until he writhed. He wanted to pull away Keith’s towel and feel Keith against his own skin, feel those strong hands slide over his back. He wanted to pick Keith up and hold him there and have him, and he wanted Keith to want it as badly as he did. Hunk clamped down on his thoughts and forced himself to stand still. There was no need to embarrass himself.

 

Keith didn’t even look at him, unable to hear the siren wailing in Hunk’s head. He reached past Hunk’s chest, his hand just barely brushing against Hunk’s skin, and adjusted the water temperature. Hunk grit his teeth and tried to pretend he wasn’t halfway to a hard-on. _Oh no._

 

“It’s Galra made, there’s no safety.” Keith explained, finally glancing at him. “It’ll get hot enough to scald you to death, if you’re not careful.”

 

“Thanks,” Hunk squeaked. He took a breath, and focused. This was his shower, and he wasn’t going to be driven out of it by his own increasing mortification. “Also, do you think I wouldn’t get out of a shower that was cooking me?”

 

Keith considered. “Would you?” He didn’t seem convinced. Hunk decided he was finished with this conversation.

 

“Get out,” he demanded, and looked for something to throw. Keith vanished into the clouds of steam that wreathed the shower stall door.

 

Hunk considered remaining in the shower until the war with the Galra Empire was over, but he knew the water would run out eventually. He rested his face against the tiled wall and closed his eyes again. For a moment he was tempted to stroke himself off, just to make himself feel better. He dragged a hand up his thigh, digging his fingers into the muscle, and decided against it. Given his luck, Keith would probably reappear with Kolivan in tow, just in time to find Hunk with his hand wrapped around his cock. _And then I would die. Literally die._

 

Hunk shut off the water and toweled himself dry. He dressed quickly and left the stall, only to be immediately confronted with a shirtless Keith. _Just… one damn thing after another. At least he managed to put his pants back on…_ Keith sat on the bench, eyes closed, face tight with pain. Hunk recognized the smell of the Galra-made antiseptic and knew from recent, horrifying experience, that Keith would feel worse before he felt better. Keith didn’t make a sound, but his breathing stuttered. His hands gripped the edge of the bench, knuckles white. It hurt Hunk to watch him suffer. His own scratched side twitched in sympathy.

 

He didn’t think he’d said anything, but Keith registered his presence and opened his eyes. His pupils dilated with pain. “Two more dobashes,” he rasped, grimacing.

 

“I think we should start carrying Altaean medical kits everywhere we go. This Galra medicine can’t be good for us.” Hunk offered, as a distraction.

 

“It works though,” Keith huffed. He closed his eyes again and bit his lip, and Hunk wondered how to help. Keith had rubbed his back to comfort him, but touch didn’t always seem to comfort Keith. He didn’t shy away from it, exactly, but he always seemed slightly puzzled when another Paladin hugged him. There was no point in offering a hand to hold – Keith already had a death grip on the bench and Hunk didn’t want any broken fingers.

 

Instead he sat down next to Keith, opposite his wounded arm, and leaned in. Not much, but enough to make the invitation clear. Keith shuffled three inches closer and pressed himself against Hunk from shoulder to knee. Hunk could feel the slight tremors that coursed through him and offered more pressure.

 

“Are you sure that stuff’s safe for humans? It seems pretty harsh.” He asked, just to give Keith something else to focus on.

 

“’M not human,” Keith muttered.

 

“Okay, well you’re not full-Galra either. _And_ you used it on me.”

 

“It’s probably safe. It just sucks,” Keith panted.  

 

“Can’t argue with that.”

 

Keith made a broken sound that might have been a laugh. Hunk couldn’t tell.

 

“Still pissed at me?” He asked.

 

“Yes,” Hunk answered carefully. “Always.”

 

“Things we learn to live with,” Keith drawled, and leaned in further, his head drooping forward. “’M not sorry I killed them. I’ll do it again when I have to.”

 

“I know,” Hunk said, allowing more of his weight to rest against Keith. “That’s why I’m still pissed off.”

 

“The lack of remorse? Or the fact that there will be more?” Keith asked. His breathing was laboured, as though each breath brought more pain than air.

 

“Both those reasons. And others.”

 

“That’s right.” Keith sounded contemplative now. “You’ve been pissed off at me from the start.”

 

“Since you left, actually,” Hunk corrected, then felt exposed.

 

Keith gave another wheezing laugh and Hunk wondered if pain was making him delirious. “Not that sorry about that, either.”

 

“I know.”

 

Keith dropped his head to Hunk’s shoulder, shivering in agony. Hunk wanted, despite himself, to pull Keith closer and actually hold him. He didn’t think Keith would allow it, even now.

 

“Bit surprised about it though,” Keith mumbled, slurring the words where his face pressed against Hunk’s clothing. Before Hunk could ask what he meant, he continued. “That you’d be the one holding the grudge for that.”

 

“None of us wanted you to leave, Keith,” Hunk said quietly. Beside him, Keith’s breathing was beginning to smooth out.

 

“Yeah, well…” Keith trailed off, pulling away from Hunk. The antiseptic had clearly run its course. He stood and lifted his shirt, looking discouraged when his stitches tightened.

 

“I said before I’d help you dress, didn’t I?”

 

Keith looked away.

 

*

 

Hunk screamed himself awake a couple vargas later, face down in his bunk. Keith had returned him to the base’s living quarters directly from the ready room, and left him there without a word. Exhaustion dragged him under almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, before he could even begin to worry about what kind of dreams it would trap him in. They’d been awful, for the most part, but at least they were the straightforward kind of awfulness that he’d dealt with from the beginning. None of the twisting, Arziin-inspired mind-warp nonsense that had happened after Delle’s attack. _Thank fuck for small mercies._

 

Hunk took a deep breath to slow his racing heart and climbed out of the bunk. The quarters were empty, but he walked to the panel at the door and touched it. It wouldn’t respond to him, but relayed the attempted input elsewhere. After another few dobashes, Keith arrived, dressed once more in his Marmora armor. Hunk hoped Keith wasn’t going to be sent back out. He hoped he hadn’t been sent back out, already.

 

“You want dinner?” Keith asked.

 

“Are you buying?” Hunk replied, thoughtlessly.

 

“I… guess so?” Keith frowned at him. “There’s some food left at the mess hall. It’s better than rations, but not by much.”

 

“Not exactly selling it, here.”

 

“If you’d rather have rations…”

 

“No, I’ll come with you.”

 

The mess hall was Galra-sized, cavernous and unwelcoming. They passed a few Blades on the walk there, all masked and armored, but the hall itself was empty. Keith led them between the long tables and then through another door, into what seemed to be the kitchen.

 

“Was your plan to have me cook your dinner?”

 

“You can if you want to,” Keith began, stopping when he saw Hunk’s glower. “But there’s food left here that the Blades made. Fresh fruit from a planet in the next system. Some sort of salty bread… thing. All from off-world. Nothing the Arziin or Empire could’ve messed with.” Keith gestured to the nearest countertop, and Hunk headed over to investigate. By the time Keith had returned with two large mugs of steaming hot liquid, he’d cobbled together the sliced bread and fruit into a passable meal. The Galra-made furnishings weren’t that comfortable, so they sat side by side on the floor, sharing a plate between them. Almost like friends.

 

It was times like these that Hunk felt especially bitter. He stared gloomily into his cup, hating that he wanted Keith, both his body and his friendship, hating the war that had managed to drive them apart, hating the blood on both their hands. The tea was an unfortunate red colour, tasting strongly of hibiscus and tangerine. Keith noticed, and seemed to make the connection.

 

“I can find you something else to drink…”

 

“It’s fine,” Hunk answered, and took another sip without looking.

 

“The rest of Voltron will be here in about five vargas to pick you up. I was talking to Allura a while ago. They’re heading to the Copperas system and need the full team.”

 

“That’s a whole day early. What about you?” Hunk blurted.

 

Keith paused. “I have other assignments.”

 

“Kolivan only kept you here for me.” It wasn’t a question.

 

Keith nodded, as Hunk expected, but it felt strange to see it confirmed.

 

“We’re not done here yet, though. The military installations are safe enough now, and the weapons systems are back online, but I didn’t find anything useful in the archival databases. And what’s Kolivan planning to do here, pull out of the system entirely?”

 

“I can’t speak for Kolivan, but the Marmora were here to support Voltron. The main tasks are complete. The Arziin will have control of their planet again, and a means of defending it. It’s time to move on. There’s no evidence that Zarkon or Lotor were ever here. It’s just another planet in a backwater galaxy, one among thousands. Too close to the Empire to escape colonization, and too far from the edges to be a useful rebel stronghold.”

 

“Still though, we didn’t find out why the Galra were here to begin with. I was honestly hoping for a secret quintessence stockpile, or some sort of immense spaceship construction facility hidden within the planet’s core, or something. I mean, they went to enough trouble to set up military installations and missile silos. Or is that the Galra equivalent of planting a flag on a tiny rock and claiming it, just because they stumbled across it in the vast emptiness of space and couldn’t help themselves? It’s not like they mined it for its natural resources or technology. There isn’t really much of either here.” Hunk realized he was babbling and took another drink to stop himself.

 

Keith looked uncomfortable. “I have a theory.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“You won’t like it.”

 

“That’s a reasonable assumption, given the totality of my experiences here.”

 

“They stayed for the Arziin.”

 

“What do you mean by that? I was under the impression that Galra didn’t find them attractive, so…”

 

“Galra have a gladiatorial culture. And Arziin are big, and vicious, and full of poison. They’re not easy to kill, and they’re just as predatory as the Galra in some ways.”

 

“Yeah, I got that. But still-”

 

“It’s the pheromones.” Keith interrupted. “Kolivan moved all the full-Galra Blades off the planet. I wasn’t sure why at first but… Well, I asked, and he explained. Arziin pheromones have a weird effect on Galra. It makes them… bloodthirsty. So much so that they make mistakes.”

 

“You’re saying it makes the Galra really want to kill Arziin, but at the same time makes them worse at it? And the Galra like that enough that they stay here, on this useless planet, for their own sadistic amusement?” Hunk couldn’t keep the revulsion out of his voice. Keith appeared contrite.

 

“Like I said, it’s a theory.”

 

“A fucking horrifying theory.”

 

Keith thought for a moment. “I haven’t got any better ones.” He sipped his drink. “It would explain some of the continued hostility towards the Marmora, and you by association, but…”

 

“The Marmora didn’t have a great track record on this planet before this mission, though. Assassinating the entire government isn’t the best public relations move.”

 

Keith shrugged. “Empire collaborators needed killing.” He ignored Hunk’s dark glare. “It wouldn’t explain why they wanted _you_ dead, exactly, but you did manage to annoy a lot of powerful people all on your own here.”

 

“You have any disturbing theories on that?”

 

“Lots,” Keith answered, and then didn’t elaborate.

 

Hunk folded his arms and glowered. Keith relented.

 

 “If they’re pro-Galra, they’re striking at Voltron. If they’re anti-Galra, they’re after you for working with the Blades. If they’re working for the new leaders of Arziin, they’re after you because you stirred up trouble in their new regime by protesting extrajudicial killings. They could be isolationist xenophobic radicals who want everyone else off their planet. They could be part of the group who originally contacted Voltron who feel betrayed that Voltron didn’t put them in power.”

 

“That last one’s doubtful.”

 

“I didn’t say they were good theories, Hunk. Just that I had them. As for the original group…” Keith tapped a few buttons on his vambrace and called up a small holoscreen.

 

It took Hunk a moment to process what he was seeing, then he swore softly under his breath. The series of images were Arziin faces, all extraordinarily beautiful, and all very much dead. Some looked peaceful, others decidedly weren’t. A couple had been shot execution style, between the eyes. Another had obviously had its throat cut. Hunk resented being shown the images over his dinner, and then felt awful for being so petty. He, at least, was still alive.

 

“Fucking hell,” he breathed. “That’s all of them. All the ones that spoke with Allura and Shiro, and asked us for help.”

 

“I said I’d look for them for you. This is what I found. I don’t know who killed them.” Keith pressed another button and the images disappeared.

 

“And you don’t think it matters,” Hunk finished for him. “Not really.”

 

Keith made a frustrated noise. “It’s not that it doesn’t matter, Hunk. Just that it doesn’t matter as much. We’re at war for the whole fucking universe. I don’t have time to… I don’t know, what do you want me to do? Mourn them? Avenge their deaths? Make sure a plaque gets put up, or that their children are cared for, or what?”

 

“No… I don’t know.” Hunk massaged his temples. He didn’t think he could feel any worse. So many people were dead, and it was his fault for almost all of them. Not always directly, but because he’d made mistakes. Because he’d chosen wrong, or fought wrong, or because he’d put himself in a position where others had had to kill to defend him. Because he’d worried about the wrong things, or missed a vital clue, or simply failed to help the way he should have. Hell, if he hadn’t shown up here as a Paladin of Voltron at all, none of this could’ve been pinned on him. It might’ve still happened, but he wouldn’t be here to be at fault.

 

Keith seemed to notice the direction Hunk’s thoughts had taken, his expression softening slightly. “I’ll take you back to quarters now,” he said, picking up the remains of their meal and standing to set it aside. He offered a hand to Hunk and helped him to his feet. “You can get some rest before the castleship arrives.”

 

“I’m honestly done with sleeping in that room,” Hunk protested. “I feel like the walls are closing in on me. I’d rather keep busy.”

 

Keith considered. “There’s not a lot of work left to do here. At least, not stuff the Marmora would let you help with. And, you look exhausted.”

 

“Thanks.” Hunk snarked. “How very astute of you.”

 

Keith ignored him. “Follow me,” he said, already halfway towards the door. “I have an idea.”

 

“Just the one?” Hunk asked. “Also, it’s not like I can get out of here through the bio-locks without you, so…”

 

Keith didn’t deign to comment. He led them through the base’s twisting corridors, into an elevator that took over a dobash to do anything, down another hallway, up a utility ladder, and then through a hatch. Hunk was about to complain about this escapade - he was tired, after all - when they finally reached the rooftop.

 

“Well, shit,” he murmured. The night was clear and warm. Thousands of glittering stars illuminated the sky, and two crescent moons arched beautifully just above the horizon. Directly above him, multiple auroras in hues of purple, green, and gold sparked across the sky. “That’s beautiful. I wonder if I could get a detailed atmospheric analysis from the castleship?” He took a few steps towards the roof’s edge, but Keith grabbed his arm and tugged him away.

 

“Stay out of the sightlines, just in case. I don’t think the Arziin have weapons that could hit us up here, but you never know.”

 

“Unless they drop a missile on us,” Hunk muttered, taking a step back. He tore his eyes away from the sky to look at Keith. “So, what was your plan? Leave me up here to have a nap so the Marmora can go about their work in peace?”

 

“Nap if you want,” Keith said, sounding bemused. “I’m not leaving you alone.” He sat down gingerly on a horizontal solar panel array, then stretched out flat. His careful movements reminded Hunk of just how many injuries Keith had sustained in the past few days.

 

“Are you having a nap too? You probably need it more than me. Also, that’s important technology you’re lounging on.”

 

“It’s the best napping surface here. You’re the one who didn’t want to sleep in a bed. Don’t get shot or fall off the roof. I’ll get in trouble.”

 

Hunk climbed up next to Keith and lay down beside him. The solar panels were still warm, and slightly softer than the roof. Keith turned to gaze at him, eyes dark and glittering, until Hunk started to squirm.

 

“What?” He demanded.

 

“I meant what I said earlier. I don’t want to fight with you.”

 

Hunk waited. “You also said you’re going to keep killing people and you don’t care if I hate you for it.”

 

“Yeah, but I… I mean,” Keith began, “I don’t want you to…”

 

“I know, Keith. I just… I’ve seen a lot of dead people in the past few days. People killed in front of me. People who asked Voltron for help and died anyway, maybe because I didn’t manage to get to them in time. People killed by other people that I helped put in power. It’s not what I expected when I joined the space exploration program at the Garrison, and it’s not what I thought Voltron would be, either. I thought I’d be saving people, you know? It sucked that I couldn’t go home, but at least I could do some good. But lately, I feel like what I’m doing isn’t helping anyone. People are still dying - I see them when I sleep and-”

 

“Hunk.” Keith stopped him, before he could work himself up further, but seemed unable to find any comforting words. “You can’t save everyone. Stop blaming yourself for situations you have no control over.”

 

Hunk sighed. “Easier said than done. I’m not you, Keith. I can’t just kill people and walk away and feel like I made the right choice.”

 

“The assassins are dead, and you’re alive. Of course I made the right choice,” Keith stated immediately, with a strength of conviction that Hunk had never managed to achieve about anything. “There’s no _everybody lives_ option, no matter how badly you want one. People you care about will die, in vain, while you’re searching for it.” Keith stretched out further on the panel, careful of his stitches.

 

“That’s cold. Some sort of Marmora indoctrination?”

 

“What happens if you die, Hunk?” Keith sat up for a moment to glare at Hunk better. Hunk tucked his arms behind his head and contemplated the stars.

 

“Haven’t given it much thought,” he lied.

 

“You should. Odds are none of us will survive this war.”

 

“Your bedside manner is dark and terrible.”

 

“You’re avoiding the question.”

 

“I feel like you’re gonna tell me the answer anyway.”

 

“Hunk-”

 

“Okay, okay. I’ll play along. What happens if I die? I’ll be very upset, for one. Hopefully other people will be upset too, sorry about that. I expect an eloquent eulogy, so that rules you out. Lance or Allura could give it instead. My family would have to be told, eventually, if anyone ever gets back to Earth. Oh yeah, and that deli that Pidge found on Olkarion could do the catering.”

 

“That’s not-”

 

“Tell me what happens then. I know you want to.”

 

“It’s simple. If you’re dead, there’s no Yellow Paladin. There’s no Voltron. The war’s over, because we’ve lost. The universe is enslaved to the Galra Empire forever.”

 

“That’s overly grim, Keith. Even for you.”

 

“It’s a realistic assessment of consequences. Even if Voltron could find another Yellow Paladin, the likelihood of that happening before Zarkon or Lotor destroyed them is pretty much nil.”

 

“So, you’re keeping me alive for a heroic death later on. Thanks so much.”

 

“Hunk, that’s not-”

 

“I know, Keith. You’re just fun to mess with. Thank you for not letting assassins kill me, is what I meant to say. And I do mean that. Even if your methods upset me.”

 

Keith was silent for a long time after that, staring up at the sky. When he spoke, it was to abruptly change topics. “How’s your side? Healing okay?”

 

“Yeah, it’s fine. It only hurts when I think about it.” Hunk paused, and then blurted, “Do you really think we’re all going to die in this war?”

 

“I didn’t say it to worry you-”

 

“That’s okay, I take initiative-”

 

Keith snorted. “I think-”

 

“Wait, it’s okay Keith. I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to know. In the future, just keep all your morbid opinions to yourself, even if I ask about them.”

 

“You need a nap, Hunk.”

 

“Yeah, I know.”

 

They both stayed quiet, long enough that Hunk started to think that Keith really had gone to sleep. He turned on his side to face Keith, suppressing a flinch when he realized Keith had been watching him all along. _Oh no._

 

“If you keep looking at me like that, you’re gonna have to buy me a drink,” Hunk drawled, to hide his panic.

 

“I have two GACs and six Earth dollars to my name. It’ll have to be a cheap one. What do you want, one of those bubbly liqueurs from Delta Seven Six?” Keith asked, too smoothly, and for a second Hunk was reminded of all the over-sexed fighter pilots at the Garrison. _Did Keith just… hit on me? And accuse me of liking girly drinks?_

 

He snorted a laugh to cover the fact that his plan had failed, and Keith was still studying him intently. “That’s rude. Where’d you get the GACs? I haven’t seen any sort of currency since the Space Mall.”

 

“It’s a leftover stipend from my last assignment.”

 

“You’d better keep saving then. I want something off the top shelf.”

 

Keith gave a genuine laugh at that, and for a moment, Hunk felt bit better. Almost like he’d been given a tiny sliver of peace at the end of a deeply traumatic day. He clutched after it, scared his brain would ruin it for him.

 

“Okay, fine,” Keith started to say, then glanced at his vambrace. He called up a holoscreen in communications mode, and Lance’s face appeared in the darkness around them. Keith acknowledged the call, holding his arm out so that Lance could see both of them.

 

“I always find you guys snuggled up in the coziest positions. Hunk, it brings me joy to think that at least one person on team Voltron gets laid occasionally.” The laughter in Lance’s voice filtered through the holoscreen.

 

Hunk sputtered, then managed to blurt, “No one’s getting laid.”

   

“Really? That’s a let down. Anyway, we’re a bit early. We’ll be in orbit in t-minus six dobashes. See you soon. And Keith-”

 

Keith cut him off before he could continue. “You’re the worst. Good bye.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lance ships Hunk with love and happiness… and embarrassment. Thanks for reading! This chapter is extra long because it’s poorly edited, haha. Sorry about all the exposition - I had some tidying up to do, and now we’re moving on. As always, I appreciate your feedback. We are getting closer to smut, I swear.


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